Fields of Rain
by Kenobi
Summary: Frodo’s mission is endangered when the affections of a servant of Sauron, an evil Enchantress, hinders his passage through Mordor. Chapter 16
1. Fields of Rain

Fields of Rain

Kenobi

Author's Notes:  
Personally I really enjoyed how the film portrayed the characters and scenery of Tolkien's world. Though I was sorely disappointed with the adding and detracting of some details and scenes. This story will stay true to the facts of the book to the best of my ability though when writing this tale I incorporated the look of the characters from the movie.

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There have been many A/U stories in this category on how things might have been if Sauron did indeed regain the Ring. This is my idea on the subject that I have been toying with for quite some time now. This is only the beginning and there will not be any major differences till later chapters.

---

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.  
Although one is mine.  
And of course there are spoilers if you have never read the books.

-------

The dark cloaked figure walked slowly away from the gruesome scene behind it. A band of men lay in the dusty earth, now gradually changing into thick mud from their spilt blood. The phantom that caused the injustice did not allow the deceased a second thought or concern. It had taken what it had come for, new knowledge-information about a certain object and which way its keeper was carrying it. The black warrior obtained its vital prize from those whose crimson liquid stained the land. After getting all it could out of the noble men it proceeded to be rid of them, breaking the promise it had made of sparing their lives in exchange for what they knew.

The creature's hand reached up to grip the richly adorned saddle that lay on a horse who matched its owner in appearance. It gracefully mounted the black stallion and turned its gaze upon Mordor.

A servant of the Dark Lord it was; one of the many faces of deception. A demon of the enemy, who had seen many years of service, many wars, knew many arts and much magic. There were many still living who could remember its cruelty and trickery and few who would willingly describe its actions in detail.

A strong gust of wind threw back the hood that veiled the individual's face. Hidden beneath was neither the ghastly features of a creature of Mordor nor did it have the appearance of a harden man. Instead it was the face of a fair maiden. Smooth and flawless was her skin, darker than her deeds and the armor she wore was her hair. Her eyes were beautifully patterned except for the morbid shade of blood red and resided in the area where there should have been a deep brown or a bright green. As lovely as Luthien Tinuviel or The Lady of the Golden Wood she would have been if not for the bizarre shadows that seemed to lurk in her eyes and expression that proclaimed the condition of her heart.

It was with the tool of attractiveness that she weaved her webs around her enemies and cast her spells. For evil is most often the alluring option.

She smiled a twisted cruel grin and sped away towards the lands she looked upon. For she now held important tidings of a certain halfling, where he was last seen, and where he was now journeying to.

-------

Peregrin Took rushed down the endless passages of Minas Tirith. Already weary in mind from the many concerns around him, he faltered in his steps with physical exhaustion. His head was occupied with fear for Faramir's health, wonder on how Merry and the others with him where coping, and then most importantly the condition of Frodo and Sam. Also in the back of Pippin's mind there was a slight uneasiness about Lord Denethor's sanity. All these thoughts and even more weighed on the young hobbit's mind.

He shook his head seeking to be rid of all these and to concentrate on the task at hand. He had to find Gandalf and to inform him of Denethor's ill spoken wishes of handing over command to the 'Grey Fool,' as he had put it.

Much to his relief he found the hardened wizard looking out over a grand banister; his withered hands clutching the sides with strength that no other 'old man' of his appearance could have ever gathered. Pippin watched as a couple of pebbles fell from the stone that Gandalf gripped. His wise eyes were firmly sealed in disturbed thought. His face was an uncertain mask of turmoil.

"Gandalf...?" Pippin stopped suddenly at a loss for words. His voice sounded weak and shaky in his own ears.

The wizard didn't move or even look at him. Pippin began to wonder if he had even heard him and resolved to repeat his last word but just then the other spoke:

"I feel a change...," he whispered, "a shift in our fates." Indeed just moments before Pippin had come into his presence Gandalf had sensed the stir. Like the tangible feeling of a steady, warm breeze coming from ahead and then rapidly converting to a flow of cold air from behind.

"There will be even more hardships ahead...before...perhaps an end ," he straightened his back and turned towards Pippin, his eyes now open and solemn, "be prepared for the worst."

-------

The voice could be deep and commanding; it could vibrate through your body and rob you of all your bravery, confidence, hope, and leave you naked before the Eye. Or it could be low with an unnerving calm elegance that already knew all you secrets. A kind of wisdom and reverence echoed in it that established a feeling of submission in those who felt its dark fingers caress their ears.

To the most faithful and the longest in service of the Dark Lord such meetings where He was heard (and often seen) it did not have the same effect. A certain numbness had been acquired. The same insensitivity could be said about one such servant who knelt before him and heard the quiet, low voice. The minion of Sauron reported her most recent news and then waited for further instructions.

"My true follower Nafeatir...," the mild growl sounded, "Go to Cirith Ungol, I sense strife among those there."

Nafeatir, Dark Enchantress, longest living commander of Sauron's forces, was she. Both lovely elf-maiden and powerful Maia made up her existence.

"Yes, my Lord," she said after a brief second of hesitation.

"You do not agree with this?"

"Are there not other more important tasks?" She asked, knowing that she could not hide much of her mind from him.

"Do you question my judgment on what is significant...?" The steady voice rumbled more harshly.

"No, my master, I will depart immediately," she said while standing.

"Go now, my child."

-------

The dark horse and its rider slowed to an elegant stop from a mad gallop in front of the Tower of Cirith Ungol. The Lady Nafeatir slid off and proceeded forward not heeding the repulsive orcs that struggled to keep up with her stride. She heard their vain flattery and questions but with only half an ear. Her foul mood was too great to bother with the brutal beasts. The only reason she even listened at all was to find some mistake in their endless babbling so she might find a little pleasure in slaughtering the whole lot of them.

She whirled around abruptly in annoyance and pointed to the creature that had been making the most noise.

"Who is in charge here?" She spoke with a loud tone, full of wrath.

"I-I am-," he began but was soon silenced by the same powerful voice.

"You are relieved of you command. I have all authority here. I want you to gather all your soldiers who are more than likely wallowing in sloth and disperse them to all passages, openings, and areas unattended that surround my tower. Now get out of my sight, I've had enough of your hideous faces for one day!"

She watched in satisfaction as they scattered in all directions. Though angry as she was for being placed in such a dull situation she resolved that she would at least watch over the region with the best of her capability. Nothing would pass Cirith Ungol and no foe would escape if they dare to come close.

-------

Samwise Gamgee lay outside the brazen doors that lead into the orcs' stronghold. His master had been taken by the Enemy to be exposed to whatever bone-chilling torment the servants of Sauron would be allowed to do to him. He had overheard some of the conversation that went on between two huge orcs who he assumed had some leadership status. What he had discovered from their muttering and fussing was both reassuring and frightful.

When the grief over losing his master and friend was still fresh it was revealed that Frodo had not truly departed this realm, but he was under a poison issued forth from the vile creature Shelob. No sooner had Sam heard this that the highest joy and sorrow came upon him. Frodo was alive but was in the hands of the goblins and subject to torture. The only other comforting words that came from the wretched brutes were that they planned not to slay his master, at least they wouldn't.

He had heard them speak of one who had great authority in the Enemy's armies who had come to watch over the tower. A mighty sorceress who they doubted would let Frodo live after they would empty him of all his possessions and information. It was her that Sam feared the most for Frodo's sake, for the orcs spoke of her with great dread.

'If I try to save Mr. Frodo in a tower with that evil sorceress in power I might as well be giving the Ring to Sauron, ' Sam thought, 'But I just can't leave Frodo, I just can't leave him to anguish and death when it was my fault in the first place that he was abducted!'

"I'm coming Mr. Frodo," he said aloud

-------

Nafeatir sighed as an outward sign of her absolute boredom. The Sorceress' skills of leadership and magic could obviously be used elsewhere especially around such a point in history. Instead of being sent to lead armies like she so desired she was assigned by her master only to watch over the blundering orcs of Cirith Ungol to see that they do not kill each other and themselves. 'What kind of a mission was that?' she wondered idly.

Her eyes flickered to the questioning room as she walked down the dark corridors of the tower. A bright ivory color that was in great disagreement with the gloomy shades that the halls possessed crossed her vision in the glance. Curious, she stopped her pointless journey to nowhere and retraced her steps. She peered into one of the more mild torture chambers that housed the object of her inquiry. What she saw she was unprepared for. She was well aware of a spy that had been caught snooping around, but paid no second thought about the matter. She dismissed the odd occurrence, too annoyed with being in the tower in the first place to worry about a spy. She then allowed the hideous beasts to do what they would with him. But as her eyes feel upon him, she found herself astonished at his appearance. She was expecting some virile brute or a lowly fool who was a half a step up from the beings that she was surrounded by, yet he was far from these.

Silently, Nafeatir entered to get a better view of his unusual characteristics. She sank in the closest shadows near the infiltrator so not to be seen by unwanted eyes. She then continued her examination of the stranger. He lay almost bare on a cold table in the midst of the chamber. His wrists and ankles were fastened ruthlessly tight to the rock beneath him, his arms painfully stretched up over his head.

What so greatly captivated the Dark Sorceress was the childlike innocence that was reflected in his features at first glance. They shone from him like rays of sunlight. His dark, wavy hair that framed his face was an interesting contrast to the snowy skin it rested against. The extreme white hue suggested that he would have had a more colored tone in light of circumstances. Ghastly bruises and gashes manifested the torment he must have endured. She noted the shape of his ears with their little points at the ends, yet he was too small in stature to be an elf. He is undersized, yet too fair and graceful in build to be a dwarf.

'Of what race could he be apart of?' Her mind wondered. She carelessly attempted to visualize his nature when awake and contented.

As Nafeatir's reveries rage on he stirred slightly. A meager moan of discomfort escaped his lips while his lids struggled to be permitted sight. She gazed in utter awe at such brilliance of blue that surpassed even the brightest shades of Manwe as they radiated from untainted eyes. He slowly squirmed and shifted in the inadequate space he was allowed; his features morphing from confusion to disheartening remembrance. A stab of sorrow vibrated through the usually hard-hearted elf at the look of anguish across his face.

In the process of taking into consideration all that Nafeatir had seen and thought she found that she was interested, or rather, drawn to the outsider in a way that she had neither experienced nor understood. Sentiment that she knew not existed surfaced; obstructing her judgment and leaving her sanity in utter chaos. The uncertainty of the predicament and its effects on her logic whispered warnings. Only the thought of 'escaping ' the odd circumstance remained.

Yet before the dark elf could flee from the unsettling situation, his eyes captured hers. She briefly wondered how he was able to discern her dark presence from the shadows. Perhaps it was her ridiculous (or so she thought) reactions to such an intriguing being.

Her thoughts did not linger on that subject for long. His crystal blue eye's held such purity yet in the edges there was sorrow and hurt. Puzzlement washed over his face after a moment of just observing Nafeatir. He obviously didn't expect to find one such as her among these ghastly orcs. His face then changed into what appeared to be hope.

"Help..help me..," a weak sound issued from his light pink lips.

Her mind then wondered what his voice would be like when strong and in perfect health, or how it would feel to have his laughter echo in her ears. She entertained images of the stranger smiling, smiling at her.

Suddenly as if Nafeatir had been physically struck she came out of her senseless musings and realized how illogical her usually sound mind was being. She is revered as a powerful Sorceress, able to make legions of men and orcs tremble under her glare, yet a miniature elf, a prisoner in Sauron's dungeons, was causing such instability in her with just his glance.

"Please," his feeble voice interrupted.

Before Nafeatir knew it she was moving towards the stranger. She had already resolved to leave, didn't she? Yet his last weak word was like a command to her ears.

As she approached him she fully began to realize how small he was. Almost like the Halflings that lived in legends. Not many knew, but they did in fact exist. She recalled encountering a few in her many years. It was the halflings now that held Middle-Earth's fate, but that was far from her mind then.

She stopped beside the cold stone slab that he was bound to. Alive, cool blue eyes gazed back into her crimson ones. For an instant she was afraid he would be sickened at the eerie shade, but rather he showed curiosity. He held her gaze unwavering. There were no words spoken between them, possibly because they were absorbed in their own thoughts.

Held in his glance she lost grip on her so-called logic and reality. She began to wonder where he came from, or why he was in such a dreadful place. Her mind lingered to what he might enjoy. Did he delight in the sharing of tales and legends? Perhaps he welcomed melodies and songs recent and ancient? Or could he be like herself, one who desires knowledge and the study of different areas.

Their individual musings were stopped by the sound of many, carelessly clumsy footsteps. Nafeatir tore her eyes from the prisoner to give the doorway a quick glance.

"I must go," was all she could find to say. No explanation or encouragement came from her mouth like she wished.

He closed his eyes slowly (much to Nafeatir's sorrow) and rested as much as he could back on the table.

Nafeatir then found herself not withdrawing at all. Indeed, it had been years and years since she had felt compassion for another, yet at that moment she was more worried about what would happen to him then her being caught in the unusual circumstance. 'I just have to prevent him from being needlessly harmed again by these foolish Orcs,' she considered. Her more reasonable side whispered that she would not be able to assist him while in this unstable mood. Not yet, she needed time.

She reached over and lightly brushed a wavy lock of dark hair from his face. He abruptly opened his eyes again apparently thinking she had already departed.

"What are you called," she asked quickly.

He hesitated at first, suspicion clearly taking its reign, yet something was bidding him to trust. Drawing in a deep breath he replied. "Frodo..," with that he laid his head to rest on its side and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Frodo," Nafeatir murmured softly to herself. Loud grumbling and yelling reminded her of where she was. Reluctantly she withdrew from his side and out the opening before the orcs took their two next steps.

-------

The corrupt enchantress found herself dashing away from the questioning room as if she had been pursued by an unseen foe. Turning a corner she halted and pressed herself against the wall. While gasping deeply in an attempt to catch her breath and mind, she questioned herself as to why he had been so frightened.

"Frightened..?" She whispered, unbelieving the reality of it. 'Could I truly be fearful of that little being? Perhaps it was what he turned me into for those few moments - a weak fool...?' She thought.

Either way Nafeatir resented the fact that she had fled even after being so farl away from the chamber and the orcs. She was angry that she ran in confusion and panic. She, Nafeatir, who fought in the most hideous wars, who stood up to her enemies where some men in the Dark Lord's army would have faltered in their bravery, who couldn't recall the last time she had turned down a challenge, had just performed such a vast act of cowardice.

In those minutes she spent in with him she didn't recognize herself. Her thoughts were a distorted muddle.

'I even told myself that I would return to him and ensure that no more harm would come to him! What do I care about him? He is nothing, only a small stumbling block. He corrupted my perfect mindset and left my judgment in disarray. He is dangerous,' she considered.

"Yes, very dangerous," she spoke while fingering her sword that hung by her side. "He must be executed," her voice was surprisingly shaky which only made her more irritated.

Taking a confident deep breath and lifting her chin in pride. She determined that after a brief pause in order to recover her full mind she would slaughter the little elf, and then she would be rid of the foreign feelings he instilled in her.

-------

Author:

This has been reread and edited as of 2006. Perhaps after rereading everything that I've written and fixing a few mistakes here and there, then I'll be able to finish a few more chapters.

- Kenobi


	2. Paradigm

Paradigm   


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   
I apologize for the confusion the change in the titles might cause. It was irritating me too much. Although I'm pretty sure that the title 'Mornie Alantie' will be a future chapter. (In fact I might change titles often though the main one 'Fields of Rain' will remain. My mind shifts too easily..) 

--- 

I need to get these chapters out more often before someone writes this same story. I'm aware of other tales have a similair theme as this, but I assure all readers that this is my original idea that I've been toying with in my mind for almost 6 months. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, sped up his graceful walk. Times were changing, for the good or for the worst he knew not. He only knew he must act now for whatever force that spoke warnings would not allow sleep. 

He opened the door of his most precious child, his daughter, Arwen Undomial. At first sight it appeared to be empty, but his eyes were keener and more wise than most. They soon focused on a small fragment of cloth blowing in the wind from the outside opening. He quietly walked across the length of the chamber, stopping just before being exposed to the night air. 

"Rest does not come tonight?" He asked not looking at her but rather at what she stared so intently at. The dazzling lights that painted the dark sky. Quite breath-taking it was during that particular twilight. All the stars that had ever appeared on lesser nights and throughout the ages seemed to resolve to show themselves all at once as if bidding the lands below a farewell. The sight was beautiful and comforting, yet mournful. 

"How can one slumber?" she replied, her eyes far off in other lands. "I cold dread came upon me." 

"We must react now, my child." 

"I fear for him, father," she said as if not hearing his last words. Her thoughts only on one individual, Aragorn. "Though never before has my heart been uneasy." 

Elrond reached over and took her smooth hand is his. He did not want to send her away. All his heart wanted was for her to stay with him while this new wave of evil washed over them. He desired nothing more than to have her here to protect her and have her words and encouragement. But the heart can easily be blinded and he knew that she could be of better use for the deliverance of Middle-Earth elsewhere. Someone else needed her. 

"You must flee from here. All my knowledge and wisdom tells me it is not safe. And you, my daughter, I feel will have a great part to play for the benefit of our lands," the elf king said slowly, gazing deep into distressed eyes. 

She opened her mouth to say something perhaps to question or object, but decided against it. She nodded in agreement and understanding. Smiling she wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. 

------- 

Sam pushed back against the cold, stone walls of Cirith Ungol. Only a few short moments ago the area was disturbingly silent and vacant, now it was bustling with orcs. Sweat gathered at his brow as he watched goblins of all shapes and sizes pour out of the tower from the entrance where Frodo had been taken. From where he stood he could see inside the stronghold, what he saw was not comforting. Twice the amount of the beasts were dispersing every which way. 

Involuntarily he reached up to the chain that hung around his neck. His hot, sweaty fingers brushing against the inspiring cold of one simply gold ring. At the touch a jolt of bravery and power rang through his body. 

'With the ring I can go unnoticed,' he thought to himself, 'or if need be, I can use it's power to raid the tower and rescue Frodo!' His expression turned to that of stone as he moved his hand to slip on the ring. Then simple hobbit reason kicked in and revealed just how foolish his last thought was. His face melted back into the humble gardener whose only wish in the world was to please. 

He frowned at himself and the ring as he examined it between his fingers. All the evil, cruelty, and what the small gold band could do to people came circled in his mind. It had turned his once cheerful master into a burdened, weary, old hobbit and it had plunged himself and Frodo into a war with death and chaos all around them. And for that he hated it. He would not worship or rely on something so foul. 

With a despairing sigh, Sam dropped the ring and sunk to the filthy ground. Confident that the shadows hide him well, he weighed his options. The area was quickly being occupied with the vermin and the door would not stay open long. He had to act now. 

"Forgive me for my foolishness if I fail, Mr. Frodo," Sam muttered as he came to the conclusion that the only way in at the moment was under the magic of the ring. 

'I will only use it till I am past that entry,' He thought to himself. And keeping in mind all his previous meditations on the instrument of evil he hastily shoved the band on his finger. He tried to stand up just as quickly but found that the new world that this device brought one into was hazy and unnaturally enhanced. If he had not experienced it before he would have taken the thing off right away. Though he settled that that the dizzy and nauseated feeling was a result from his rapid movements. 

Sam shook his head in an effort to gather his wits. He then continued forward. Past the line of the monstrous beings and beyond the door. He was in. 

Drawing in a deep breath he ventured on. Into the very center of a tower crawling with evil and goblins. A place where he should have been getting the farthest from. 'Oh! How did I get here?' His minded shouted. 'we shouldn't be here Mr. Frodo. We should be by our fires with a good pipe full of weed at our lips along with the latest tales of elves.' Despite his depressing thoughts on failure and regret he turned to visions of his master and that allowed him to take the next step. It was in that hour of darkness that the love of his friend pushed him forward. 

On and on he went past multiple orcs and following many different routes. Always aiming up the stairs and towards the center. After what seemed like hours upon hours he leaned against one of the repulsive walls to calmly map out his situation in his head. 

He was interrupted by loud conversation in a familiar language. He glanced over to see an area with a pack of orcs speaking in common word although perverted by their obscene grunts and snorts. 'Perhaps I can gather some information from them,' He thought, yet not much liking the idea after stating it. 

He moved as close as he would dare to the revolting bunch with no avail. Disgusted at his lack of bravery he rushed up to them without a second thought on the matter. 

Sam only succeeded in losing his balance and bumping into one of the orcs with particularly large, appalling eyes. The frightful beast -never having experienced a graceful moment in its life- spilled over Sam's mistake onto another. An oversized brute who felt the effect turned around immediately and grabbed the bug-eyed goblin. 

"Watch where you step, you clumsy dungrat!" The hairy orc yelled at the first one. His already massive eyes were now the size of saucers though his fear was not from the thought of how much damage the other one could do to him. 

"E-elf Magic," it stammered. 

"What? Speak up and let your last words be heard." 

"Elf-Magic! It's that warrior! He's lose around here.." 

Sam froze. He was just picking himself up from the ground when their conversation registered with him. They were talking about him and they knew he was among them. Sam momentarily gave thought to the title they gave him. He indulged in a small smile. Without his right mind noticing, he caressed the ring on his finger. 

"What are you jabbering about Pakrut?" Another one came trudging in the direction of the others. "Ahh, put 'em down you. I can't understand a word he's saying." 

The large orc grunted and harshly dropped Pakrut to the floor. He jumped up instantly. 

" I- I was, I was simply standing there when I heard peculiar noises. Then suddenly from right in front of me some unseen force shoved me aside. Its a sort of enchantment, I knows it!" 

A crowd was beginning to accumulate. Many seemed quite shaken by his words and trembled. Sam watched with pride at their terrified faces and uncertain murmurs. 

"Listen you!" The woolly orc said pointing a greasy finger at Pakrut. "Why would the spy's ally give away his position? Or why would a powerful fighter bother with the likes of you?" 

"I know not the mind of the enemies! Why did they send such a pathetic piece of filth in the very midst of Mordor? " Pakrut snarled, baring a row of high peaked teeth. 

Sam could feel the tension and tempers heating up. Their voices faded from his ears. Their talk of him being a great hero and the insults on Frodo were arousing him. The scalding flame of an oncoming battle burned in his veins. He saw himself bringing forth Sting, slaying the whole gathering and therefore ending their irritating chatter along with the suspicions. Sam being hidden under the veil of invisibility would have the advantage. They would not know the danger till he sunk his blade deep into their bellies. It would make a glorious verse if sung and a splendid song once he, Samwise the Strong, rescued his beloved master and completed the task. He would be a key element in the war, they will all look at him with honor and grant him high authority. Or why not the highest? He could stop the evil in the world altogether, if he would simply take- 

Sam abruptly discontinued walking down the path that such thoughts were luring him down. 'Take the Ring?' He wondered at where it had started and even why he still bore the ring on his finger. Sam was amazed at how harmless it had all started, at how merely a few ill words nearly brought about his destruction. 

He recalled only deciding on wearing it for a minute or two, yet here he was still unseen. Shrouded in the very cloud of the Dark Lord when he had warned himself time and time to be wary. He stood aghast at himself, at the time he had used in vain. 'The Ring truly is a dire, abominable thing!' He though. 

Still gushing with disgust at himself he turned and ran. In his immense shame he collided with another orc though cared not and did not turn back. He only knew he needed to find someplace deserted and rid himself of the influence of the Ring. 

------- 

Nafeatir sat in a large seat carved out of the black stone wall. She stared in silence at the opposite side of the room. There, hanging in a pattern, were countless blades in all shapes and sizes. Their purpose ranging from the swift, merciful death to prolonged, ghastly torture. Despite her thoughtful gaze on each item, her mind wondered rather on fields of war. Analyzing various combat tactics and refreshing her memory on the enemies weakness. 

Her deep meditations were interrupted by the sound of her many minions approaching. Gorbag, a chief among the orcs, entered the chamber. He halted just within a few paces from the doorway. His eyes looking at the powerful sorceress with uncertainty. 

"My lady," he spoke with wariness. She granted him no attention. "It was rumored that a great elf-warrior had accompanied the little rat. My soldiers are all griping about strange happenings and some stories are convincing enough. With thi-" 

"And you came to me with worries that are based on an orc's words?" she hissed calmly. "Nevertheless, if you are indeed unnerved, captain, than take the needed precautions. Do not waste my time on insignificant assumptions," she said with venom in her words. "Now leave before I get irritated." 

Her earlier concentrations, however, were shattered. The real matter that needed study resurfaced after all the time she spent trying to drive it out: the prisoner, Frodo. Her former frustrations on the subject swelled within her at the thought of him. 

"Wait!" she commanded, finally moving from her stony position. "Where is the captive being held?" 

"In the uppermost tower, your ladyship." 

Closing her eyes and drawing in a breath she strived to steady her raging emotions. She had already come to the decision to slay the small vermin. 

'So why am I delaying it?' Nafeatir questioned herself. She allowed an unnatural grin to spread across her face. She had battled herself, her cruelty in the end defeating her compassion. After that victory she immersed herself in grisly mental pictures of her past victims. The time was spent gaining back her endurance. 

"So be it," she whispered. Standing up to her full stature, she gracefully walked over to the other side of the room. Her long and frightfully thin fingers brushing the cold handle of a silver dagger. A horrifying yet attractive serpent was illustrated on its grip. The mouth of the creature was wide open in an attack position, but instead of fangs or poison issuing forth a long sharp blade was there. 

Nafeatir proceeded to pluck the weapon from its place while turning to a very nervous Gorbag. 

"I want all your orcs that line the halls or guard the little rat to be out looking for your 'Elf-Warrior,'" She moved her fierce gaze to the tip of the dagger. 

"I'll deal with the one caught." 

------- 

Sam was aware that he had been discovered and that they were searching for him. He looked around him. His choices were running out. Afraid of being found he ran towards what looked like an abandoned area. Momentarily it baffled him to find such a sight in the light of all the action that took place everywhere else. He dismissed the thought, simply thankful for it. 

Before going any further he yanked the ring from his finger. He sighed in relief as if an incredible weight was lifted. 

He then began to climb the darken stairway; stopping after the first couple of steps to get his eyes accustomed to the dark. Ahead he saw a small light. A pitiful flame on a torch lit one side of the stairs though it lightened his mood in a way just to be reminded of the word 'light'. 

He journeyed on. His single thought centering on his poor master and if he would ever see his friend's face again. He traveled up for some time with no change. 

All of a sudden his fear and terror increased though he knew not why. Could the mysterious corners and unknown turns be getting to him? The dread of a soiled hand reaching out to grab him from the many hidden spots finally getting the best of his bravery? 

'Certainly not! I will not allow childish worry to come falter my steps now,' he thought. 

Though caution was to be heeded more than recklessness especially after all he had done so far. He ceased his travel upwards and listened. Nothing at first came to his ears. As he waited the only sound that was heard was what resembled soft wind on stone. 

Sam let out a breath that he was unaware he was holding. Relieved he took a few more steps. He tried to focus on other things, but found he could not shake off the irregular anxiety. There was something oddly familiar about what he heard though he couldn't quite place it. 

"Why does it matter, Samwise Gamgee?" he whispered while moving onward. Though the noise continued to echo in his mind. 

He turned his troubled head on more blissful adventures to try and lift his spirits. The quiet Shire where small happenings and lively parties where the only action one would see. Where it was safe to walk in the woods and fantasize about elves and dragons like the stories good old Bilbo Baggins would tell. And were he would be absolutely satisfied with merely the entertainment of imagination. 

Or even the episodes the fellowship had together were more lighthearted than endless darkness alone in the heart of Mordor and with such a heavy burden. He pondered where the rest of the fellowship could be at that moment. How the other two hobbits were coping with this time of great hostility. Was the noble leader, Aragorn, riding forth on a battlefield with thousands following him? Sam could clearly picture Gimli and Legolas -the most unlikely of friends - staining their mighty weapons with orc blood. 

He then halted sharply. Something had registered with him. Legolas. The small memory of nightfall when the fellowship was still nine. A late night it was when sleep did not come to the simple gardener, meditating on the stars above and the quest ahead. The elf prince was also up and walking lightly on the massive stones they camped by. The sound of his footsteps were like that of a gentle breeze on the smooth rocks. 

Sam looked ahead and behind. There was no where to run both ways going endlessly on. He moved to the the closest and darkest spot not caring what lay hidden there anymore. He huddled down into the shadows, hopelessly trying to conceal himself in them. He huddled as close as he could to the foul stones. His handhold on the ground slipped suddenly landing him on his face. 

Allowing the incident to clear his frantic mind, he lifted his dirtied face. He wiped the awful muck that wasn't quite soil or dust or anything else of the same consistency but infinitely more filthy from his cheek. Squinting his eyes he reached out to grip the false support which was in fact a large chunk of rock. He examined it, then where it had rested. It was lying by a massive brick that was half eaten by decay. 

Dropping the fragment he proceeded to pull and dig at the rest of the whole. Wrapping the length of his arms around it he yanked with all the strength a harden worker would have. It shifted enough to grant him space to scramble behind it. 

The period on waiting was flustering. He was eager to see if he had been correct in hi assumption, yet he dreaded to see the thing that caused the sort of nauseous fright in him. 

And then just when he was about to hurl insults at himself for his foolishness it entered his area or rather she did. She was obviously an elf for her graceful manner was not unlike Legolas. He silently thanked his love for the beautiful beings for if he had admired them so, he would not have been able to discern her footsteps from the wind. 

She was an elf yes, yet not a tall one. Although she had much more height than he. She was robed in dark and gray garments that where disturbingly attractive. In her pale hand he clutched a fell dagger with a passion. But what sparked the greatest fear in him was when he gazed upon her face. Great and breathtaking was her loveliness though even that could not save her. Her eyes were an illuminating, deep red that was a twisted sight to behold. Like a dream reflecting reality only to have one bizarre turn at the end that haunted you. He trembled and looked away from her eyes and simply stared at her clothing. 

Sam had no doubt that this was the enchantress that plagued the tower. He prayed she would pass swiftly. 

She appeared to be in a hurry although he noticed she slowed ever so slightly while passing him. However her mission-whatever it may be- must have been more important than him if she even knew he was there or not. Rushing or no, the vile presence she cast about him in those moments seemed endless. 

With an itching intolerance he curled up and shut his eyeslids tight. A crimson shade and a corrupt look still lingered even there. 

Sam stayed there long after she had passed. He had lost himself. He knew not how long he lay in the small compartment though he was aware that some time had indeed passed. The feeling of awaking from a afternoon nap was how he could best describe it. 

He fought his way out and stretched his aching muscles. Studying the way she went he wondered exactly where her destination was and what she was planning to do. 

"Not something good, with that look in her eye," he muttered rubbing the back of his neck. And at that instant he remembered why he was taking that path. It was leading up, where he hoped to find Frodo. 

Where also an immoral Enchantress was heading with death written on her face. 

'No, Frodo, please, let me not be too late!' He thought as he raced up the stairs.   


------- 

_ I stand solid while the Paradigm is shifting..   
- All Together Separate _

------- 

Author: Excuse the typos, I hate reading over my work again. Thanks for reading...More perhaps? 

- Kenobi 


	3. Breath Of Life

Breath of Life   


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   
Wow, finally another chapter. Alright for any of you readers who are still interested, I plan to try to get a chapter out every one or two weeks. I am working on this story more than I have been, but life gets hectic and I might fall behind yet again. I apologize again and again for this downfall of mine. Though for now I'm working on the next few chapters quite a bit. 

--- 

I want to get these installments out regularly so I'm aiming for one every two weeks at the most. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Nafeatir slowly took the finally steps up the ladder that lead to the upper chamber-where the halfling was being held. Her determination faltered when she saw him. For he lay on the filthy floor of the chamber stripped of everything and apparently beaten-she could easily see crimson liquid against his body. In that first instant she fought the urge to go to his side and tend to the wrongs done to him. She was slipping, losing sight of all that she had built up around herself. Nevertheless, the jeweled weapon in her hand seemed to heat up with its thirst for blood. 

She tore her eyes from the mere hobbit to the weapon which screamed for attention. Surprisingly she had unconsciously relocated her dagger at a horizontal angle directly in front of her view. It burned in her hand with an eagerness to perform what she had been planning to do. 'It was just a halfling anyway,' she considered. Dirty creatures who are shallow, worthless hole-dwellers, and the thing was somehow confusing her rationality. 

Blinking away her previous hindrances she pulled the dagger back in an attack position and proceeded with a confident step forward. It was then when she caught sight of his face. His unusually fair features appeared to be distressed not only when awake but in dreams, and the blood that she had so wanted to spill was gradually trickling down his slender neck. 'What was his name again?' she wondered. 

"Frodo," she then heard herself whisper. After the one word was spoken she heard another curious sound, the sound of a metal object hitting the floor though she remained unfazed by it. Her eyes were transfixed on Frodo's face. 

Many moments passed before she realized what her decision was. Nafeatir sighed lightly in surrender. She didn't recall ever dropping the knife, all she knew is that when she brought her hands to her temples to quickly caress where the debate had gone on, they were empty. She breathed in deeply and looked on her decision. It didn't seem so foolish now that she was in the presence on the halfling. 

In one swift motion she snatched the dark cloak from her own shoulders and placed it over his unshielded, pale skin. With silent steps she crossed the chamber to where his head lay. She gracefully sat beside him where he moaned and twitched in a haunted slumber. Cautiously she placed her hands on his cold arms, he shuddered lightly at her touch. She frowned but continued to gently grab and pull him into her arms, holding his upper body. 

The hobbit twisted feverishly, attempting to resist her. She bent low to his ear and muttered soft Elvish words of calming that she was unaware still lingered in her memory. Nafeatir felt his muscles relax and his breath soften. 

"Oh, Sam," she heard his sweet, frail voice say. 

"Sam," she repeated the name, "And who is this Sam that you ask for?" 

Nafeatir felt her breath catch in her throat when his eyes gradually opened. He curiously looked around the dingy cell and finally rested his gaze on her. His face shifted from a dreamy contentment to horror for it was not Sam's eyes he looked into, but two frightening blood orbs. 

Frodo then violently struggled in the grip of what appeared to him to be some sort of orc Witch, some devilry of Sauron that clouded his mind to make him see a nightmarish alteration of a fair lady. 

Nafeatir easily overcame the desperate hobbit by tightening her hold on him and bringing him closer to herself. 

"Peace, little one, I do not mean to harm you," she spoke as soothing as possible with her own emotions in an uproar. She was angry at herself for alarming Frodo, yet excited to be in such close contact with the fascinating creature. 

Frodo ceased his resistance realizing that it was of no use. Although he was still quite tense and nervous. 

"Who- where," he stuttered. 

"Silence, be still, my little one," she quieted him while reaching tenderly over to stroke his warm forehead and cheek. 

Many moments passed as Nafeatir caressed his face in an effort to calm him. Frodo lay dazed, he looked upon his current situation through hazy eyes-a result from his growing fever and previous interrogations from a brutal band of Orcs. His one thought was to look anywhere but not into her eyes. His mind was baffled at why he would be in the arms of such a radiant being, but then again she wasn't entirely so. A darkness as apparent as her eyes hung around her. But this all raised another question-why is the contorted shadow being so kind and gentle? 

Nafeatir's own thoughts were the most serene they have been for hundreds of years. Far from her was the idea of questioning him. She didn't want this tranquility to end due to her frightening him again. For certainly she would not have another chance like this with him, neither was she assured of ever encountering this contentment after this small period. She was simply overjoyed to have the pure being close, reminding her of ages ago when she was similar and showing her how remarkably and refreshingly different he is and was to her. 

"You're not real, you can't be," he spoke, bringing her back to reality. Also ending the quiet that rested between the two. "This is just some warped dream.." he trailed off. 

She wanted to guarantee that this was not a fantasy, but hesitated. She saw this as an opportunity-perhaps she could draw more out of him if he thought that this was all indeed a dream. The crafty elf then recalled her previous questions. 

"Tell me, young mortal, who is this Sam that you call out for?" 

"Sam. My dear friend, I'm so sorry. Where are you? Far from this dreadful place I hope," he didn't seem to respond to her, though merely took it as if it was his own thought. 

"Do you not take comfort in the dark shades of this land?" She spouted from her perverse reasoning before realizing how absurd it must sound to his ears. "The dark that hides so many things, an easing veil, wouldn't you agree?" 

"Comfort? Easing?" he muttered. "Comfort is resting in the soft grass with the warm sun equalizing the cool breeze. Or the sincere embrace of a loved one which will ease the pain of circumstances-oh Bilbo..." 

Although he still avoided her gaze, Nafeatir could see a glow in his eye as he spoke on such topics. On his familiar homeland she assumed. 

"Does this miraculous land of comfort that dares to oppose my own land have a name?" She asked laughing lightly. 

"The Shire, Hobbiton, Bag-End-simple, humble yet..," he sighed softly and-with trust-sunk more into her embrace, "beautiful." Nafeatir smiled down on him. 

"Go on," she prompted while examining his body which was smeared with blood and dirt. Lifting a part of her cloak that was covering him she was thankful to see that the damage wasn't as severe as the grime made it out to be. Healing balm would easily close, and wholly heal the minor cuts without leaving a scar on his milky skin and it would relieve the bruises. 

"There are emerald hills that roll on for as far as the eye can see in some areas of the Shire. Small lakes, ponds and rivers are there just waiting for you to crash into their peaceful waves as if that is their sole purpose. The wooded areas-my favorite-are nothing compared to Lothlorien or any other places I've passed that have its lands decorated with grand and lovely trees. However even now after my eyes have witnessed the unspeakable fairness of the dwellings of the elves, the memory of the Shire is quite charming in my mind. A home where you can truly be comfortable, at least for a simple hobbit like me," Frodo stopped abruptly. Apparently thinking that he was speaking nonsense. 

While he was telling her of his home she had pulled out from among her robes and armor a small container of curing lotion. She still listened intently to a place that sounded a lot like a fantasy land in her dim world as she started to nurse his wounds. With one arm firmly positioned around him, she skillfully used the other to open the tiny crystal bottle and obtain the needed amount on her finger. She carefully pushed back some of the cloak and applied the balm to the worst injury across his chest. Frodo winced and began to lash lightly at the unexpected ache. 

"Shh, it is well, Frodo," she gently rubbed the sore. "Frodo, a simple name for such a beautiful creature. You must have others." 

He didn't answer. Nafeatir could see in his expression that he was thinking something over. Allowing him the time she went for another open wound by his shoulder that reached down to his back. He sharply drew in air at the sting and then breathed out, "Baggins." 

Nafeatir finished massaging the ointment into his back, and quickly placed a dab on all the various bruises she could find. 

"I am Frodo Baggins. Just a simple hobbit," he continued as she put away the crystal vessel, "not a skilled and beautiful elf. I dwell in a place where farming is taught not fighting. I wasn't meant for this task..." he suddenly ended, again seemingly not speaking to her. 

"Task?" 

Frodo firmly set his jaw and dared not open his mouth, even if this was merely a dream to him. 

"Rest now, Frodo Baggins. Let not regrets plague you," Nafeatir said allowing the sensitive subject to die. He shifted his eyes to look at her, but no sooner had she experienced the delight of his glance that he recoiled. He was clearly shook by her appearance. 

"Is this Bilbo that you spoke of earlier, is he your father, young one?" 

He shook his head slowly. "Though he has been one to me for many years," he paused momentarily. "My parents died when I was much younger." 

Nafeatir saw a change in his face, from regret to haunted remembrance. Hidden in his eyes she could get a glimpse of the anguish this poor hobbit had endured. In the farthest reaches of her history there might have existed a time when she had felt pity and compassion for another other than herself. Still even in her golden days when darkness was far from her, she had never before felt sympathy in such a manner and enormity like she did when she held the halfling. 

"You have suffered much," she whispered, pulled him close in a gesture of empathy. "Through many hardships and hurts, across great distances." 

"All in vain," he spoke barely above his slow breathing. 

Nafeatir permitted the silence to settle between them. Countless possibilities circled her mind concerning the hobbit's doom. The grievous creature will surely come to a prolonged, gruesome death if he is sent to her masters towers. As she watched Frodo she felt nauseated at the prospect of his smooth, snow-white skin ripped and tattered, his innocent face contorted into a agonizing scream, and his sweet voice crack at being forced to tell his torturers all he knows including his sorrows. 'Truly this will be his fate, but what do I care?' she inwardly questioned herself. 

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt him tense. She looked over to where he was eyeing with distrust. Evidently her hand had brushed his. She smiled and moved hers back over his. She could plainly see suspicion and uneasiness in his widened eyes. She tenderly stroked his hand with her thumb, feeling how soft and cold it was. 

"These are the hands of a farmer?" 

"I try to help Sam with the garden, but he simply will not have it," he said with a smallest of quivers in his voice. 

"Then what are they used for?" Nafeatir asked while removing her hand from his much to Frodo's relief. 

Frodo closed his eyes, thinking the question over carefully in his foggy mind. 

"I have a passion for words," he uttered, slowly drawing out each word in thought. "Whether read, written, spoken, or sung. Uncle Bilbo, he..he would tell me stories of his adventures and he would even recount to me a few tales he had heard from the elves and dwarves. I would count the days till he would visit me at Brandyhall. He would always have some song or legend of old to spark my imagination. Later he taught me all he could about the Elvish languages-so much more elegant then any other tongue. And then I can still recall," he found himself expressing aloud, "my mother-she had the sweetest voice- she'd sing me softly to sleep, with songs that she had written herself especially for me. Oh, how I wish I could remember just how they went..." 

Nafeatir genuinely smiled. He was so unique, so unlike any other she had met. Never before in all her years had someone intrigued her so much and then continued to do so the more she discovered. 

Her mind then turned to all the stories and tales she could tell him, of all the history she-herself-had experienced. In her chambers there were innumerable shelves of books filled with myths and legends, ballads and poems. For she herself craved all knowledge and when the Dark Forces would siege enemy territory she would gather all that would satisfy her need for it. It was in her Noldorian blood, for always since the days when they dwelt in Aman did they desire knowledge. Volumes of research and languages decorated her library walls. She also took note of the endless amounts of empty sheets of paper waiting to be filled with the writings of beautiful, smooth hands. Mindfully, Nafeatir watched as he swiftly fell into a troubled slumber. 

At last the sinister Sorcesses was overcome with certainty that banished all her previous doubts. She would have this Frodo Baggins as her own. No matter what the sacrifices or how simple the mortal may be, he was absolutely perfect -he would be hers and hers alone. 

Nafeatir cautiously pulled back a fragment of her cloak which covered his throat area. As to not alarm him she gradually lowered her head getting close to the bend of his neck. Focusing her senses she breathed in the scent of his skin and the blood that flowed in the central vein there. She smiled reassuringly for he was untouched and not bound to any female of his race or of any other. At once an animal rage overwhelmed her. He had to be hers, she would not allow any others to lay a hand on him or harm him. She responded to the untamed sensation by baring her teeth and preparing to mark him on the appropriate location on his neck. By this all would know that he was her property. 

Her hasty advancements were ceased by the sudden incoherent mumbles and slight shudders of a halfling in an appalling dream. She stopped and quickly backed away seeing her foolishness. Somewhat disgusted with her own behavior which was then mirroring that of the goblins and other hideous beasts in Sauron's realm. She didn't want to subject the beautiful mortal to the barbaric ways that she was accustomed to, he deserved something more. 

Nafeatir placed the cloak back over his bare shoulders and neck. She eyed him warmly while he slept, idly going over the arrangements that would have to happen in order for her to claim as hers-the hobbit. 

"That will need to be dealt with," she whispered referring to his size and continued to savor the moment in silence. 

------- 

Sam sank to the stone floor. Hope and luck was failing in his mind. He had followed the stairs believing that they would hold his master high above but much to his sorrow he had only come to a dead end with only two other locked doors about. Although, that vile looking witch had come this way with a corrupt motive in her eyes, perhaps it was good he didn't find Frodo here. 

'But where to now?' he thought, closing his weary lids and leaning his head against the wall behind him. Just then he heard it. 

A sound that made his blood still in his veins and the hairs on his arm stand to attention. It radiated from the very walls he was supporting himself against. A moment passed before he realized what the noise was. It was a voice. A low piercing voice that didn't frighten him like the harsh grunts of orcs, it was more on the level of the shrill cries that the Black Rides possessed. Deeper, darker fear it put in its foes. Not as terrible in volume as the Ring-Wraiths, it was a quiet, suggestive evil that left Sam wondering and shivering with dread 'What will happen next?' Sam waited and listened intently to the voice (although he would rather have plugged his ears) to determine where precisely it was coming from. He leaned his ear upwards and found that it was clearer from that angle. From above was where is was coming from. 

It was then quiet. Sam dared not to move though he really didn't know why. He assumed it was overpowering curiosity on his part. Never did he think that it was the will of the ring that held him still. 

Sam jumped at the noise that ended the silence. It was the sound of a low creaking hinge. Much to his amazement a ladder was lowered from the middle of the ceiling 

Then with all the elegance of a distinguished elf descended the enchantress of Cirith Ungol. Sam looked to her face and found that this time he could not turn away. There was a slight alteration in her features , something that he couldn't put his finger on just then. Unfortunately at that moment there was no convenient hole to crawl into. Sam stayed remarkably still and prayed she would pass him by again. He inwardly sighed as she seemed about to continue toward the steps that lead out of the high chamber. But then stopped so abruptly that one might have thought that she had walked into an unseen wall. Then her stone expression changed again, her thoughtful eyes returned to the present. Her head turned in the direction of Sam, listening to something. 

To his horror he saw that the face he dreaded to gaze upon yet wouldn't allow him to look elsewhere was then looking straight into his eyes. Sam's heart pounded loud within his ears. All the sudden the ring that hung around his neck felt unbelievably heavy. He tried gripping it to lessen the strain, but found that he couldn't move. He could only watch as she quickly came closer. He then felt a fiery pressure on his temples. He fell over on his side. 

Sam was conscience long enough to see the ring spill out of his garments and present itself openly on the ground beside the boot that was also in his vision. 

  


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Author: Excuse and forgive the typos, I hate reading over my work again. Possible in my updates I'll get my trusty editor to correct the mistakes. Thanks for reading...More perhaps? I love feedback. 

- Kenobi 


	4. The Vision

The Vision   


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   
Greetings again. Another chapter? so soon? This one is somewhat smaller then the previous chapters. I'll continue putting these out quickly if I know someone is out there reading..? *Hears crickets* O.o. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

------- 

Nafeatir stared without a twitch or blink in her eye at the object that lay before her on the small table. Recovered from the other halfling was the sole trinket which her master yearned for with such overwhelming intensity. The one article that he spent all his power, wisdom, and resources to regain And it lay right before her. It was the One Ring. 

'It could be mine,' she thought in the deepest of her meditations. The Queen of Darkness would finally live up to her title. Visions of her being the Lady of all Middle-earth danced before her minds eye. She would set up her own empire where she wouldn't have to bend under the complete will of Sauron. Her will would be the law of the land. If she would but slip on the Ring and claim its power, Saurons power, as her rightful inheritance. 

All noble elves and grand men would bow before her in fear and devotion. All would worship her eternal beauty and might as though she were a high goddess. As if a Vala had stepped out of the Blessed Realm to put to right all that had gone wrong in the created world. She could only see a glorious rule where her wishes and commands were instantaneously so. All those who opposed her would be cast into the terrible depths. 

But above all the other appealing images she saw Frodo as hers. She would rise to her rightful throne, choosing only him among all the males of her lands. She would grant him all that his heart desired, making up for all the time he had spent in tragedies and sorrow. He would be second in all Middle-earth (for the enchantress couldn't grasp natural equality) as Prince, and Lord of everything. 

She needed not to make deals and risks with Sauron in order to claim what was rightfully hers. She wished it, so he should be hers without delay. If she would but put the gold on her finger. 

Nafeatir blinked finally after what seemed hours. These thoughts all passed out swiftly. She had meditated on the possibilities on many occasions throughout her history. Who in a high position with knowledge of The Ring of Power had not in their darkest thoughts indulged such possibilities? It was nearly to the point of being overpowering in the actual presence of the ring. With the new temptations including the halfling it was difficult to shake off the call of the ring and remember her loyalty to her master. 

Risks would have to be taken, claiming the ring was out of the question. 

She turned her gaze away in order to focus on the arrangements to be made. She wanted him, but her master would not approve. The risk of simply bringing him to Barad-dur with her was too great. 

"He would never allow him to live" she spoke aloud her fear. Nafeatir had come to the dreadful conclusion from what little she learned from the two halflings, that the male that she adored was in fact the rumored Ring-bearer. Her small assumptions during her conversation with Frodo were proved correct after her small talk with the other halfling. The mission Frodo spoke so gravely of was to destroy the only thing that consumed all her masters purposes. Nafeatir knew he was a foe, though she was unaware of just how great a threat he was to them. If he was merely a mortal it would've been a lot easier. 

The Ring-bearer was only a whisper in the dark lands, a whisper with many definitions and doubts. Only a few discussed the matter, they saw the fabled hero as a timeless elvish king coming to confront the Dark Lord and then slip it on in the sight of the Great Eye, or a young man of high honor and resistance coming to discard the Ring in Orodruin. They then laughed at the idea for in both scenarios (and in different variations) due to the fact that in the end of both, Evil would be the victor. 

It was she who discovered that someone was truly bringing the Ring in this direction confirming the visions the Great Eye saw. Sauron had once said that he thought it impossible and absurd for their foes to throw away his precious ring. Nafeatir had agreed, but after seeing Frodo she was shaken. He was so pure and insignificant in a world of warriors, kings and evils. She knew not how long he had the ring, but it appeared that it had not affected him as severely (if it's evil touched him at all) as it should have. He had traveled so far already that she didn't doubt that he could have reached Mount Doom and permanently ended Saurons reign. If she knew this then her master would know before long. He wouldn't hesitate to slay the Ring-bearer or worse to find satisfaction in placing Frodo in endless anguish - never releasing him in death. And if the Dark Lord knew of her affections for him, she wouldn't doubt that he would torment and torture him before her eyes as punishment for her weakness. 

Nafeatir's eyes narrowed, she couldn't tolerate even the thought. The idea of concealing him from the Great Eyes quickly fled her possibilities. Even using all her craft, wisdom, and knowledge it was impossible. He would discover the halfling as well as the secret that he was the Ring-Bearer and he would be taken away from her. 

"There must be some way!" she cried in frustration while banging her fist hard upon the table. 

The Ring bounced up at the impact and curiously landed on its side. It proceeded to rolled leisurely toward her though there was no apparent incline. It continued down its path until it landed into her open hand. The Ring itself arose to her last words, giving the answer to her problem. She already determined not to claim it out of her own loyalty to her father, but that didn't mean that she couldn't use it. 

"An exchange then," she spoke to the Ring. She brought it up to her eye level, firmly holding it between her thumb and index finger. 

"You would like that, wouldn't you? To return to your maker, the one who you have been searching for all these years," she smiled. "Not until I'm guaranteed ownership of the gift that you have brought along the journey for me, oh, Ring of Power." 

------- 

The Last Debate of the great lords of Middle-earth-which included Gandalf the White, Aragorn heir to the throne of Gondor, The renown sons of Elrond Halfelven, Prince Imrahil, and Eomer now King of the Mark- had just ended when Gandalf quickly called Aragorn to his side. 

"I speak only to you now on a matter that might seem insignificant to the others," he spoke in hushed tones to the other. 

"What is it Gandal,f for surely if something weighs heavy on your mind then it is important." 

Gandalf waited a few seconds to gather his thoughts. 

" I must not deprive you of the knowledge of the shadow that has grown in my mind. Not long ago I felt... something," he began. " Slim is the hope we have for success, but even smaller is it now. It all now comes down to these last few hours. Something tremendously endangers the Ring-Bearer and his mission, I fear, but do not dishearten, Aragorn. Even if everything looks its dimmest you of all must not lose faith." 

He looked directly into Aragorn's grey eyes. "Hope ever comes." 

Aragorn nodded solemnly. 

------- 

Sam sat in the most remote corner of the cell. His arms tightly wrapped around his knees. In his hand was a single piece of cloth soiled with crimson blood and now drenched in his tears. He had wept till he grew sick of the noise of his sobs. He rocked gradually back and forth trying to hum a tune, trying to do anything but bring to mind the images that the witch had presented for him. 

The horribly enchanting voice still lingered as she told him of the ways she as tortured and killed his master. It was so vivid in his mind. Her voice told in detail how she had watched Frodo be tormented and lastly killed. Elves had this gift of speech in which they could paint such clear mental pictures that the listener felt like they are experiencing what is being described or that they are in the story being told. Their voices would put images in the minds of those who heard their words in a way like no book or tale being told by someone else could. He had the chance of experiencing this gift in the cozy rooms at Rivendell. In a place where dangers were far away and stories of war were told from lips of fair elves with fair hearts. Apparently all elves had this ability no matter the condition of their heart. He never would have imagined that something from an Elf could be so horrible, and he wouldn't have ever guessed that he would curse the gifted voices of the elves. 

The voice of the elf witch which told of his masters demise, spoke of his end with such details. Sam saw his master in a pool of blood, he saw his eyes as they looked for mercy in the crimson eyes of the witch, and he saw Frodo call out for his Sam with no avail. After she had told him all of this, including facts that she should not have known such as his own name, she threw before him the bloodied shred of cloth. She bought to his notice then that no orc had blood so rich in color and that she herself had no wound. Sam muttered his denial, but she never heard his feeble attempt at defiance. Sam was too terrified, too grief stricken, to even look at her for very long. She had left him with a long cruel laugh and without harming him at all. But how he wished she had. It was he who should have endured all that his dear master did. It should have been him to die, for truly it was his own fault. He considered with regret how he should have followed his gut feeling and stayed with Frodo, or he should have somehow carried him away till he woke up. 

Now all was lost. One single servant of the Dark Lord had murdered the Ring-bearer and had taken the Ring. Sam couldn't hold back the flood anymore and he yet again wept bitterly into the soiled cloth. 

------- 

Nafeatir was hesitant to merely leave the Ring of Power in a questionable tower with nothing but a horde of quarreling orcs. Yet she wouldn't dare bring it with her to her masters' towers. He would reclaim it for sure without her even speaking one word of bargaining. So she tucked it away in a small box. She considered putting a spell on the box but quickly abandoned the idea. To cast magic on the container that held the Ring of all rings would most certainly be folly. She didn't know what the outcome would be, but they wouldn't be favorable. Instead she casted a small spell on the door to her sitting chamber where she had hid the Ring. Those who passed the door without speaking the needed words would enter the room disoriented, they would search the room as one who was intoxicated and they wouldn't know it. They would leave unaware of the effects. 

After securing the safety of the Ring as best as she could she quickly made her way through Cirith Ungol and to the door where she had arrived merely a few days before. She called to the nearby orc to get her horse ready and to bring Shagrat to her. She waited impaitently till her steed was brought to her. With great haste she climbed on her horse and gathered the reigns. 

"I will be gone for a short while," she shouted over her shoulder to Shagrat who had just arrived "I'm leaving you in charge. It is very important that you do not disturb the chamber where I resided in the most during my stay, and that you do not harm the prisoner in the highest tower. If I return to find even one hair on his head injured then your doom will be immediate as well as the rest of the scum in this stronghold." The goblin mumbles a nervious acknowledgment while bowing low. 

With that assurance she sped away to Barad-dur to report all that she had discovered to her Master. 

  


------- 

Author: Excuse the typos, I hate reading over my work again. This was rushed somewhat so..   
Thanks for reading...More perhaps? 

- Kenobi 


	5. Cursum Perficio

Cursum Perficio  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   


I know I'm doing this all the time, but I switched the title of chapter 4 to 'the Vision' and I named this chapter what chapter 4 was named previously. 

--- 

Yet another short chapter. I tried to extend this one to not only satisfy my readers (I have readers? ^-^) but to satisfy myself. Really this one bothers me, it lacks..something. I'll discover it soon, and when I do then I'll probably rewrite this or add some details. Though till then. Enjoy. --- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Arwen set out from Rivendell in what light remained of the day. Traveling with her were a couple of male elves ready for battle if the opportunity arrived, and another elf maiden by the name of Isilindil. Arwen knew the woman reasonably well, well enough to call her friend. Upon four black steeds they moved through the mazes of the trees, unhurried for they were not certain of their destination. 

"Do not worry, my lady. Lord Elrond is very wise and our departure will not bring about doom for us or for him. Seldom does your father's wisdom fail," she heard Isilindil speak softly and warmly. 

"I know, my friend. I have been uneasy not only for my father for another also. Though I knew from the beginning that this would not end in sorrow, and to that I hold to. The promise of a joyful outcome." She thought of the time when she had pledged herself to Estel-Aragorn her beloved. 

Curiously after she had mentioned her own love Isilindil glanced sideways at one of the other elves. Arwen put aside her own thoughts and recalled that he was her husband. The moment they shared only lasted a second but Arwen understood the meaning within their eyes as they met. It was the silent language of their commitment to each other. Quietly saying what she had just spoken aloud, but with infinitely more significance. 

With that glimpse of what is true and her own assurances she shook off some of the dread that had spread through the minds of so many. 

-------

After numerous hours of riding from Cirith Ungol, the Queen of Darkness confidently entered into the very heart of Barad-dur. Into the throne room of the Dark Lord. She abruptly came to a halt and sank to one knee, bowing her head low. There she waited for her presence to be acknowledged and for permission to speak. Time flowed slow as she focused on the words she needed to say. She knew not precisely the reaction the Dark Lord was going to have. She needed to chose her words carefully. Not physically reveal to him through facial expressions or the tone of her voice that she was willing to back down on her proposal. 

"Yes, what is it? Why did you leave your location and come before me uninvited?" A chillingly smooth voice came from behind the shadows, pulling her out of her revere. 

"My Lord, I come on a matter of the greatest importance of which I am sure you are already aware of." 

There was short quiet, as before a storm. It was interrupted by a low murmur of some sort. It steadily rose to what could be considered a laugh or rather an oral manifestation of a dark, perverted victory. 

"Return to me what is mine, child. Why do you wait to give your master his highest glory?" 

"I have it, though not in my present possession." she arose from her kneeling position. She saw a stirring in the deep shades. Usually he never bothered to provide a temporary physical facade when she came to speak with him. When he did cloth himself in what seemed like a tangible body it would not last long and would eventually fade. He needed more power to regain his former majesty. Raising her chin she braced herself for the first strike. 

"Do not play games, witch! Give it to me!" his voice climbed in volume suddenly, resounding with a deep, resonant power. 

"And by the powers I have inherited," she continued "it will not be recovered until I receive my just reward for all my loyal years of servitude, yet most significantly for this final service: the finding of the Ring of Power," she proclaimed with almost that same amount of power in her strong voice. 

A deep and prolonged silence settled in the throne room of Barad-dur. She heard gradual, steady footsteps from the abysmal darkness before her. Patiently she waited till the slightest of color could be made out. The form he shrouded himself in was like the armor he once wore when he still had a tangible body. A less dramatic helmet hid his features (or the lack of) with only one opening where his eyes should have been. Instead all that could be seen was dark. His voice came this time in a seductive attractiveness, cleared of its previous wrath. 

"So my blood does truly reside in you veins," he outstretched his arms in a graceful gesture. "What do you desire that I wouldn't give you gladly, my daughter? What do you want so earnestly that you deny your master the key to," he hesitated, "our returned world?" 

As Even and quietly as possible she drew in a deep breath before saying what could mean either her halfling brought to her permantely or his doom. "In exchange for the Ring of all Rings I want the Ring-bearer." 

The smallest of sounds in the large throne room could have been heard easily during those few moments of silence that fell. 

"The Ring-bearer?" he said with the mildest of surprise in his tone. 

"Yes, the one that the people of Middle-earth sent to destroy what he carried." 

"I've know this, I have seen it. A wretched miserable thing.. What would you do with this cursed foe?" he asked his volume beginning to rise again. 

"I wish for his companionship-" 

"Companionship!" he shouted, the sound of the single word echoing through the massive chamber. Coming back again and again to her ears as if a whole army opposed her. "You want the companionship of the very enemy who dared to think he could destroy all that I have built up. Who held my treasure and dreamed of being rid of it forever. The dreadful thing is the embodiment of all our foes stand for. If you would but give to me what is rightfully mine then I would grant you the choice of all the fairest elves and men of my kingdom for your pleasure." 

"I will have no other." Instead of simply hearing his impatience she could feel the heat of it. 

"Why now do you seek a male, why him?" Sauron demanded. 

"Why did you choose among the first elves whom you did?" Nafeatir challenged. He only laughed at her defiance. 

"At that point in my existence she was desirable and expendable. And a once faithful slave was wrought out of it. Perhaps I should have killed her and then I wouldn't have to waste my time now. " 

"Have I been such an ill servant all these years that one simple request-one in the same with what you wanted and received- should be as a betrayal?" Since she had first spoken she had not moved a muscle except her lips and occasionally her eyes. At that moment it was essential that this was so. His gaze could not be seen but she could feel it. She could feel it like she could feel her skin directly in a roaring fire. She flinched and faltered slightly under the intensity of it, inwardly cursing herself. 

"Verily, I do indeed have the cleverest of slaves." A sinister chuckle ended her torment. "So be it, witch. Your proposal will be more of a punishment for the Ring-bearer than mere physical anguish, I foresee. Leave at once to hasten the return of all that was once mine. " 

"With all due respect I must prepare a simple mixture, one that will alter the stature of my guest." 

"Of course," he replied slowly, with the slightest hint of peculiarity ringing in it. "Leave my sight, be gone!" 

Nafeatir bowed and then departed quickly to her towers. Idly she wondered at her masters words. Why would residing with her-where she would most readily pamper the Hobbit- be a worst fate for Frodo then the black pit of Barad-dur? This question continued to plague her mind as she began her concoction. 

-------

Frodo sat in the remote cell gazing at the small cut in the stone walls that he assumed was some sort of window. Through it he could catch a glimpse of the greys and blacks that painted the sky above the Dark Lands. He was unaware of how long he had been held in the enemies' tower, but it was long enough to find comfort an the sight of such dismal clouds. They were a poor reminder of nature and his home. 

The memories of his stay in Cirith Ungol where meshed together like a collage of nightmarish images. When he tried to understand anything all he saw were orcs, vile weapons and dark. All he heard were harsh, demanding questions and perverse laughter. They had stripped him of everything he had. They had beaten him, but according to what they threatened he had only had a taste of what was to come. The 'real fun' as they put it was coming soon. Oddly (he soon came to realize) they spoke nothing of the Ring nor seemed to know anything of it. They continued to question him with no realization that they had the One Ring. Or do they have it? What had happen after he suddenly lost consiousness? What had become of Sam or the Ring? 

Even fanciful hopes of the Ring lying unnoticed or in Sams care did not ward off the dread that grew in Frodo's heart. All that he was certain of was that it was gone. He couldn't count the flow of time, but he was well aware of its was passing. As the time went, his faith went also. He struggled to hold to something, something real in the very midst of all everything gone wrong. 

He began to wonder when the orcs would return to fulfill their promise of actual torture. The thought made him shiver; he pulled the massive cloak closer to himself. 

There was another mystery. Where had the cloak come from? When he awoke he had found himself firmly enveloped in the enormous garment. Since then he dared not drift into sleep, for he was now completely bewildered on what indeed was reality and what was dreams. What he swore was a nightmare haunted by a distorted maiden was now draping over his shoulders. Wasn't it the foul lady that bestowed the comfort of the cloak on him? If it was then how was it that the object be around him in waking? Was she real? 

Doubts and inquiries circled his muddled mind till the sound of many footsteps interrupted his meditations. The time of peace from his captors had ended. Before he had time to be horrified by his coming fate the door in the floor was swung open fiercly. From the opening came three huge orcs. Frodo noticed that these orcs were not of the same kind that resided in the tower. These were much more taller and broader with fine attire and armour on. 

The first orc took merely two strides and was towering over Frodo. He seized the helpless hobbit, tearing the cloak completely off of him. He vainly tried yelling and resisting. The biggest orc grabbed his wrists and yanked them up to his level before continuing to bind them brutally with chains that he held. Frodo felt the others doing the same to his ankles and legs. 

When they finished, the hobbit was then slung over one's shoulder. Frodo proceeded to struggle against the orc that was hauling him downwards. Eventually he ceased, too weak in body and mind. He attempted to call out for Sam into the endless stairways. A few of the orcs laughed and one struck him in his side while mumbling something about not wanting to hear his noise. They weren't worried about him being heard in the land of Mordor. There was no one for hundreds of miles who would aid him. 

After the stairs came the endless corridors until finally open air. If it could be called air, it was hot and the more he was carried out into it the more he was aware of an awful stinch. The orc tossed him to the dry ground without giving Frodo a second glance. Frodo moaned at the impact and the sharp rocks that cut into his bare skin. He clinched his teeth together to help withstand the pain. Looking up he saw the group of goblins quarreling in a gruesome speech. Fingers and eyes came in his direction so he supposed it had to do with him. 

Frodo gladly turned away to the direction of a curious sound. There he saw what seemed like a gigantic bird but devoid of feathers and beauty. It almost resembled the illustations of Smaug which his uncle had in his book, but even though Frodo had never actually seen a dragon he knew that this was not one. It was some tortured, appalling creature of Sauron. The thing flapped its fleshy wings once sending a powerful wave of the smell he had been enduring. 

The debate had ended. He was roughly grabbed up again and dragged closer to the hideous beast. Frodo turned his head just in time to see a sack thrown over him. They swifty tied the hole up while hauling him up on something. He felt their many hand touching him, repositioning him to lie on his belly over what he guessed was the back of the flying creature. Frodo trembled with disgust. The rider then took hold of his arm through the material of the bag. Tearing the fabric and digging his soiled nails into the hobbit's skin, He pulled Frodo closer to himself. The hand never left his arm. The terrified halfling wasn't sure if this was a curse or a comfort. 

His breath was momentarily taken away when the beast unexpectingly took wing into the foul Mordor sky. Its direction -unknown to Frodo but greatly feared that it was so- was to the Great Tower, to the very fortress of Sauron. 

  


-------   
_ Cursum perficio   
Verbum sapienti   
quo plus habent   
eo plus cupiunt   
Post nubila, Phoebus   
Iternum _

_   
- Enya _


	6. Cry Of The Wind

Cry of the Wind  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   


Anxiously awaits feedback.O.O 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Nafeatir yanked the reigns of her steed back so violently that he ceased his mad gallop instantaneously. Her confused gaze fell on the dead land around her. There was nothing, nothing but ash and stones. Not a sound could be heard, but her own breath heaving in and out loudly. 

An animals cry resounded in the quiet around her so abruptly that the very wind seemed to put an end to its travels to hear the dire scream. She jerked her head up to see one of Sauron's ghastly winged creatures journeying in the direction of Barad-dur where she had just departed. 'What could that have been sent out for?' She wondered A fear that had been increasing within her climbed as it swiftly escaped her line of vision. She watched until it had completely vanished. To dismiss the warning would have been foolish. Everything had gone beautifully, almost too perfect. Now wasn't the time to be assured of success. She had to be wary. 

It had taken her longer than she had anticipated to finish the concoction that would cure the Hobbit of his diminutiveness and allow her to look straight into his lovely eyes. So much more time was wasted trying to get it right so there would be no after effects or pain for Frodo. Time that should have been used to get to him. She tried making up for the lost hours by driving her horse to his limit, yet the speed gave little comfort. 

Something about that flying worm unnerved her enough to end her frantic gallop. Answers would be at Cirith Ungol. Answers to whether she was simply filled with too much suspicion and caution or whether a betrayal had come to pass 

Her eyes glowed with visible flames. She yelled with a loud, terrible voice for the horse to continue. She pushed the steed to its limit and still demanded more. 

------- 

Through the bag that he was confined to, Frodo could feel a difference in the way the animal moved. Soon its movement ended altogether with a jarring landing. He was plucked of its back and taken somewhere. 

What paths that they carried him down he knew not. The time it took seemed twice as long then the amount he spent on the smelly beast's back even longer then his stay at Cirith Ungol. Endless was the trek to wherever. Forever it was for him to be uncomfortably slung over a bony shoulder. 

He began to accept this never-ending journey when the sound of hinges could be heard. He was then thrown down. Frodo moaned, yet was so comforted at the ending of the trip. 'Should I be?' he asked himself. He wasn't sure where he was, and what they would do to him in this new area. 

The orc ripped off the bag and ropes that held him and then departed. 

His shred of peace did not last long. He never had any time to think. A new set of monsters soon imposed upon him. They seized his arms and legs, holding tight to him. Then to his horror one took hold of his chin and forced his mouth open. They poured a thick, jelly-like substance down his throat. It was bitter to the taste and lingered long in his mouth due to the density of the revolting drink. He wanted to spew the stuff out at first and as is seeped down his throat he felt his body want to vomit it back up. The orcs wouldn't allow this. They made sure it was all in before placing their hands over his lips and nostrils forcing him to keep it down. 

After a minute or two the beasts dropped him and left. Frodo fell hard to the ground gasping for breath and clutching his stomach. At first he felt nauseous. Pain soon followed. The aching started from his stomach and spread throughout every inch of his body. It increased steadily over him wholly like some an unseen pressure was pushing at him entirely. He screamed and shook as the anguish continued unrelenting. As the throbbing pain grew so did his screams. Many heard his cries in Barad-dur. 

------- 

Nafeatir didn't even acknowledge the very presence of the goblins of Cirth Ungol as she dismounted and strode forward. She never slowed her long strides while she trudged down the corridors, around corners, and up the many stairs. When finally found herself in the uppermost chamber she panicked. He was gone. 

"Frodo?" she whispered. "Frodo!?" her long fingers groped at the cloak that she had left with him. After a few moments of mindless dread, anger settled in. Sauron had deceived her. He had seized what she held so dear without her knowledge. She then understood her sudden apprehension earlier. 

Nafeatir clutched her cape till her knuckles about burst from the pressure. She dropped it and stood, drawing her blade. She hastened down the ladder, and traveled aimlessly till she saw her first victim. She brought her sword down upon the orc through his skull, splitting his head apart. The next two she beheaded quickly. 

Soon Shagrat came bolting around the corner to find out what all the disturbance was. What he found were endless bodies and scattered body parts of his soldiers. Nafeatir took one step, and grasped his soiled shoulder. She firmly placed the tip of her blade against his chest. 

"Where is he?" she demanded. 

"M-my Lady! The Dark Lord sent for him. I thought for sure that you-" 

"Was the halfling alive?" 

"Yes, my Lady. He was not harmed-" she silenced him forever. Recalling her words she remembered that she told the orcs not to harm him only. Nevertheless she knew not of Frodo's safety, and she would keep her promise. 

She knew time was important though her hatred outweighed her logic. She continued her slaughter. Not one wall was without newly spilt orc blood. 

------- 

No rest came to Frodo after the pain had faded. He feared to move lest he should crumble to the floor like dust or find his arms and legs like that of a monster. He only stared at the dark. 

So clouded was his awareness that his ears didn't pick up the noises of the orcs who had entered. He returned to reality when one harshly yanked him to his feet. He only fell back on his hands and knees again in immense perplexity. Something felt wrong. Everything appeared smaller, the chamber he was in, the orcs, seemed to have shrunk somewhat. When they pulled him to his feet again, he stared at the floor with amazement. His eyes went from his feet and legs to the ground. He was standing on his own legs with no aid from something to add height, but the ground was farther, much too far then a Hobbit is accustomed to. He continued to stare at his feet as the orcs bound his hands together behind his back in cold, hard chains. He chanced a glance at his many captors. Remarkably they only stood-at the most-a foot taller then him. Rather than being the giants he was familiar with. 

The group pushed with bruising power at him to go forward through the open cell door. Frodo tried to catch himself, yet his new height wouldn't allow. He clumsily stumbled forward a few steps but enviably land on his chest and face. He was rewarded with a couple of sharp kicks to his side and some unintelligible curses. He was disgusted by the number of oily hand that cruelly grabbed a handful of his skin and hair in order for him to proceed forward. 

The journey to wherever the orcs were taking him was melded into an appalling, never-ending continuation of confusion and struggle to walk. Where they were leading him, he could not determine. All his mind was occupied with was to simply stay erect and not falling. 

Frodo stumbled again over the unusual length of his legs, or it could have been the way the ground beneath him appeared so far away, or maybe the ill treatment. He had lost count how many times he had fallen, been kicked thoroughly and they hauled to his feet by a powerful tug at the chains and a jerk of him hair. 

His mind was in absolute chaos. 'Why don't they just kill me?' His thoughts screamed. 'Why all the mystery and enchantment?' In his thoughts the idea of death did ring sweetly. He deserved it, anyway. He let everyone down. So many others who do not deserve it will perish because of his foolishness, and misjudgement. His only fear was of the tales of the tortures of Barad-dur. He prayed they would merely end his pitiful existence quickly, yet why would the Dark Lord show such an act of mercy on him? 

He tumbled onto his face from the overwhelming anxiety. 'It is all my fault.' He fought the tears that threatened to make apparent his sorrows. He closed his lids tightly to prevent them from coming and in preparation for the orcs to brutally bring him back to his feet. He waited and nothing happened. He heard the foul beings whisper amongst themselves. They're hushed tones we soon followed by something that sounded like a massive stone sliding again another. 

Frodo shifted toward the sound. It belonged to two great doors. Embellished upon these were many jewels embedded in the gold of the double doors, yet the majesty of all the precious stones could not redeem what they depicted. The gold and red jewels were arrayed and fashioned to show a horrendous image of a war. A war with the gold monsters tearing apart the silver people, ripping their bodies and spilling their ruby blood. 

Frodo shivered, but was soon relieved to see the carnage swinging away into the chamber the doors lead to. His relief did not last. The room that opened up was devoid of any light or rather the evil in darkness was so overpowering in this chamber that one was not aware of anything like resembled light. And it was cold, dreadfully cold. It was as if the darkness used the frigid air as its icy fingers. They reached from the room, and caressed Frodo's bare skin in mockery. 

The Hobbit trembled immensely in fear. With what little strength he had he tried to resist the slimy, unclean hands that were grasping at him. He was easily overcome. They set him back on his unstable legs and tightened their hold on him by two on either side pulling on at their respective chains. This steadied the weak Hobbit so that he was able to stand (though quite uncomfortably) without sinking to the floor again. Frodo felt that they were going to rip his hands off at the wrists if they pulled any harder. He was pushed and prodded from behind to enter the chamber that appeared to have been the starting place of all that was evil in the world. 

The orcs stopped him by yanking on the chains once he was halfway into the room. Frightful silence and suspense hung in the air, yet no one dared to break it. 

His own breath was unbearably loud in his ears. His previous trembles had not left his body, they increased with every step they forced him to take. Fear caused all this. Frodo had an idea what awaited in the shadows, and the more he dwelt on it the more desperate his intake of air became or his shaking would double. He chased away the thoughts by commanding his mind to center on merely quieting himself. 

Eventually an even sound could be heard. This stifled the Hobbit's audible anxiety. Not long after the noise he could see a hint of grey growing in the dark. As the greys approached with a trace of irritation in its steps Frodo could see that the silhouette was man-shaped. He first perceived the being to be a fair elf. For the clouded image was tall with graceful moves and long white tresses. Yet as he drew ever closer the mental picture that had formed in his head became perverse and unnatural as he looked upon what it really was. Where there should have been pure, alive skin there was a lifeless grey with various darker greys stretched along his face. His eyes were hidden beneath the shadows of his heavy brows or at least he thought at first that they were in shadows. 

The thing came to a slow halt less then two feet in front on the frightened Hobbit. Frodo's eyes doubled in size at the face of the other in full view. It wasn't that his eyes where shrouded in dark, but they were dark. The monster before him gazed on Frodo with no visible eyes. Where there should have been color there was absolute darkness. It was as if his real eyes were occupied somewhere else, or that they had been burnt into total blackness. 

There was no doubt in Frodo's mind that this was the Dark Lord, Sauron himself. He attempted to shrink away from the Dark Lord by pushing against the taunt chains with whatever strength that was left in him. Panic filled him and he thought not on the fact that it was no use at all to struggle at that point. 

Frodo ceased when the Lord of Mordor's hand shot up and grasped Frodo's chin firmly. The touch of Sauron was curious, indeed. Frodo didn't feel his hand at all, it was almost like he just used the false image of a hand, but in reality he was using some other power other than the one of physical force to accomplish what he wanted. 

Sauron proceeded to lift the Hobbit's face upward so he could clearly see him. He gradually turned his face from one side to the other. Frodo had no other choice but to look into the very face of immorality as it inspected him slowly. 

His expression had remained the same since he came into full view. Frodo began to wonder if what he saw was just a menacing mask. 

"There is something about you," his voice finally hissed out of cracked lips. This was no mask. He regarded Frodo for a moment more before releasing him from his hand. Even though the Hobbit could not feel h im when The Dark Lord's hand was removed the bottom half of his face became curiously numb. 

"Very well," he said while turning his back on him. "Take him to my little pets to have him cleaned and then to Her Ladyships towers. Leave him bound in her chamber." 

The orcs started to pull at Frodo. Relief coursed through him a warm summer breeze on his cold skin. He wanted to be anywhere-anywhere at all-just not there in the presence of pure wickedness. 

"Wait," His voice resounded again, calm and in control. "I would like to say a few more words with Middle-Earth's Hero." Frodo tensed and cursed himself quietly for giving his hopes up. 

"I suppose you must be wondering why I don't just end your vile existence right now," he turned back and faced the terrified halfling. He stared into the other's wide eyes until Frodo could stand his gaze no more. He shifted it to the floor. He laughed subtly in satisfaction, and then began to pace back and forth. His black eyes never leaving his captive. 

"Nothing would give me more pleasure-except if I had that cursed heir of Isildur- then to personally twist and burn your skin, your blood, till you were but an inch away from death. But fate had another punishment in store for you. And it does seem fitting, doesn't it, Ring-bearer?" intense sardonic emphasis was placed on the last word he spoke. "The one who held the hopes of the entire lands of Middle-Earth-all the lands of men, Elves, and dwarves, even the lands of you filthy halflings-they all looked to you for confidence. When all else seemed dim in their pathetic lives, they remembered you and your mission. And they thought themselves wise for sending such an able hero. One who was so simple and pure that they doubted for you to fall into darkness. Can you see it? What it would have been like if you returned and your mission complete. The sound of celebration would have been heard for miles around. The large banners would have been lifted high and waving proudly in the sunlight. Oh, the songs that would have been sung with fair, clever voices. The tales that would have been told. Who would be the reason for all this? Why the Ring-bearer of course. Fitting it will be for him to be reduced to the simplest of slaves." 

He stopped his strides and approached Frodo more closely. He waited till Frodo lifted his eyes to chance another look into Sauron's endless eye sockets. 

"A slave who's only purpose in its wretched life is to appease the carnal appetite of my loyal follower." 

Frodo never felt so small and insignificant. Not even when he was so alone after his parents died. Not even when he gazed on all the noble faces of those in Rivendell or sat among them at the Council of Elrond. Not even when he spoke with the very Lady of Light. He was too small to even fully understand his doom. He quickly looked away from the Dark Lord's haunting gaze and again fought the urge to weep. 

Sauron laughed once more when he saw his angelic face drop and cower before him. He also perceived Frodo's faith failing and the small resistance against his tears. Sauron laughed all the louder the volume of it echoing in all corners of his throne room. 

"Yes, she will be very pleased." He motioned for his servants to take him away and go ahead with his previous commands. 

Frodo didn't fight at all as they roughly dragged him out of Sauron's chamber. 

"Farewell, Ring-bearer," were the last words he heard from that vile voice. Words full of mockery and pride in itself. 

  


-------   
_   
  
  
  
_

_   
_


	7. In The End

In The End  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   


My utmost apologies for the wait on this one. 

I don't know how I got this far into my story so quick. Well, to me it seems like its moving along quickly. Anyway I need to do some research on a few things so there might be changes in the future. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books.   
New *SPOILERS* if you haven't read the Silmarillion. 

-------

Sam was awoken suddenly from his dreamless sleep by the loud creaking of the door hinges. His drowsiness faded quickly at the sight of the dark lady standing in the door frame. Her face was not at all pleasant, and her blade was drawn with a dark substance dripping from it. No words were spoken. Sam looked away and stared intently at the soiled floor. 

The sound of her descending footsteps brought him back to the present. He was astonished to find that not only had she left without touching him, but that the door was wide open. Not long after she left her footsteps ceased. Sam still sat there not moving, only listening. Over the sound of his nervous breathing all that remained was silence. Nothing, not a grunt or a snarl. Not a course word in the awful language of the orcs, just silence. 

Gradually he crawled out of the safety of his corner. He climbed to his wobbly feet and headed for what seemed like freedom. When his bare, furry feet landed out of the cell he was hit with the powerful stench of blood. Visions of horrendous scenes and events passed through his head at the smell. His hobbit head wanted, at first, to bolt right back into the temporary shelter of his cell. Although he was also increasingly curious. Whose blood could be spelt? It must be a lot of it or else his nose wouldn't be sensing its strong odor. 

Sam soon thought himself very silly for getting frightened over the smallest of things. There were much more fearful creatures and dangers in Mordor. He wrapped his arms around himself to steady his steps. Turning the corner, he saw the reason for his uncertainty. On his recent excursions he had seen many slain creatures, orcs being the majority of what he had seen. Though it had been nothing more then an arrow or a blade through the chest, or perhaps a few limbs hacked off. All that he had seen was nothing compared to the massacre that lay before him. Not one body of an orc was whole. The black blood of the nasty creatures was painted across the walls. It still ran downward with large bloodied chunks of things that were beyond description. 

At the sight, Sam felt bile climb up his throat. He turned around and taking a few paces forward sank to the floor. He focused on keeping down what little food he still had in him. 

'As if their outsides weren't bad enough,' Sam thought trying to take his mind of the mess. 'What does this all mean anyway?' 

"What now?" he whispered. 

The great perplexity of the whole matter then fell upon him. So many questions and despairs floated in the poor hobbits head. Why was it that the only things that wondered the strongholds halls were himself and silence? Where did that witch queen go? Though it seemed unusual that someone would slaughter so many of their own allies, he was concluded that she was resposible for all that blood shed. But why did she leave the door to his chamber open wide? Why didn't she kill him as well? After seeing all the carnage that she was capable of he didn't doubt the tales of the torture she told him that she had bestowed on his master. 

'She should have slain me, there is nothing left for me.' The Ring was lost, Frodo was dead, he was not even held prisoner anymore. Never before had he felt so empty of purpose, so alone. Where could he go? 

"Oh Frodo, I'm so sorry," he sobbed lightly, " I'm so deeply sorry that I failed you." 

Even though the idea of seeing his lifeless friend was so heartbreaking he could think of no other motivation in his life, not at that minute. He stood and wiped his tears on his soiled and torn clothing. Then facing the dead orcs he began his search for one departed hobbit or perhaps some shred of his belongings, anything tangible that was Frodo. 

------- 

Nafeatir dismounted her black horse in front of the gates of Barad-dur. She took a few hasty steps before the animal she rode behind her collapsed in death. It had reached its ultimate limit a while back on the road, but she refused it release till it got her to where she wanted. Her steps didn't falter at the sound of its demise. She continued on, anger fueling her speed. The normally endless labyrinth of the Dark Lords great tower didn't last as long to get through. 

She never hesitated as she shoved open the doors to his throne room and boldly entered. Out of habit she stopped in the middle of the chamber. For a moment only, she was frightened of what her tongue could say while she remained in this temper. She felt him stir and instantaneously went on one knee. She did not linger there, nor did she wait to be allowed to speak. 

"Where is he?" she thundered while arising. 

"Give me it!" he voice came back with infinitely more power then hers. 

She was shaken by the intensity, but she also had an iron will. Not till she knew where the Hobbit was would she give up the Ring of Power. 

"What have you done with my reward?" 

He then emerged from the unknown dephs of his chamber. This time he came before her as tall as a tree with terrible armor on. He had not fancied such a facade in almost an age. Obviously preparing for his crowning as King of Middle-Earth. He towered over her, regarding her with disgust. 

"I have not harmed your precious halfling." 

"I have what you seek. Where is he?" 

A minute or two passed as the Dark Lord looked down on her. She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his glare like the very flames of Mount Doom were inches from her skin. 

"I know why you desire the mortal so. You want the light, the innocence, the," he hesitated and the spat out, "purity! You see all these incased in a fair being and you lust for it." He laughed. "Ah! The want for something forbidden is truly overwhelming! But you are darkness and you will be his bane. For in the beginning the desire for light destroyed it. Your hunger, your lust for him will devour him, and in the end you will find that what you held so dear will be belched out in black. Just like the ancient female Ungoliant who sought for the trees of light but killed them in her desire and ever thirsted for more. It is you, not I, who will harm him." 

Quiet returned as she considered his words. She wanted to shout some form of defiance to disprove what he said. She would never hurt Frodo! Though part of her despaired at his accusations. He told her what she really was, and The Dark Lord should know her dark heart perhaps more than she. 

"He is prepared for you in your towers." 

At that instant when she was satisfied with the knowledge of Frodo, she dropped the bundle of rags she had been holding concealed within her garments. It had burned and was increasingly getting heavier in her hands. After slaying those at Cirith Ungol and releasing the other halfling in honor of Frodo, she then immediately went to get that which landed with a resounding boom to the floor before her. The One Ring. 

Nafeatir turned from Sauron and his beloved Ring and left. Leaving behind the fate of Middle-Earth. Had she known how horrified her hobbit would have been if he had known that he - the supposed savior- was a prominent element in its exchange into darkness maybe she would have felt a small inkling of remorse. But no, to her she was merely following her masters will like she had been for hundreds of years. Only this time she was granted an extra reward. 

------- 

Sauron extended his vile fingers across the already dim skies of Middle-Earth. The thick wave of dark originated from the Dark Lord's fortress and slowly stretched over the heavens. The inky foam cast a dense shadow that the Free People of the land could only watch in horror as it gradually came upon them. It's touch was unlike any shadow ever known, like a vast veil, dimmer than the night before the first beings of Iluvator awoke with song. It's caress could be felt - if not seen - for it was as a frigid dampness that spread throughout the physical body and clung like a wet cloak. 

He had won. On the Evil One's finger rode the Ring of Power. His might was now more than all elves, men, dwarves and other races could oppose. All hope was banished by the dreadful eclipse. The Ring-Bearer was taken, and with him, the whole of Middle-Earth. 

------- 

Aragorn had known and felt the tremor of evil long before he watched it manifested in the sky. He knew that is was over, the struggle against evil had ended. Through the tremendous battle at Helm's Deep and the perils of the Paths of the Dead he had endured. From the dangers that walked aside the Fellowship and the many years that proceeded these dark days he had braved. It was all in vain. It all ended here, on the battlefield he was fighting on. 

He would perish bravely and honorably in the last effort for the cause of good. Regretfully there would be no songs sung of such an act, none would build monuments of him like that of his ancestors to remind the generations to come what true courage and character. The voices and hands of those who would pass on the deed of The War of the Ring would cease with death or slavery. 

Time itself didn't seem to exist after the dark cloak was cast over the face of Middle-Earth. For a moment Aragorn wondered if his own sanity had faltered, for it was as if all he could recall was the absence of light and the feel of his sword sliding through countless orc hides. 

Then as a cool breeze comforts those in the heat of the day so did a warmth radiate from something in his possession. He peeled one hand form the sword and clasped the decorative piece hidden deep within his armor. A healing heat spread throughout his body when all at once he remembered light and love. 

For an eternity he lived in that moment of memory. A sweet memory of emerald fields, fresh fragrant air, and the lady Arwen. He could almost feel her close, almost see the sunlight reflected of her dark hair. Aragorn resided there in the far off land for a few fleeting seconds before opening his eyes (suddenly aware that he had closed them) to face his fate. 

The light in his reverie was so craving that it had not departed with his waking. Aragorn blinked rapidly at the glowing figure that loomed before him. It was a brilliant white light about the size of his fist. The light was fading even as he examined it. It was shrinking into what appeared to be a solid form. 

"Am I still in the realm of dreams or is this some devilry of Sauron?" The great leader whispered through cracked lips. 

"Neither, Lord Aragorn, Heir to what now the Dark Lord has unjustly claimed as his," a surreal voice came from the light. 

Aragorn watched in amazement as it melted into a human figure. The overbearing light lessen till he saw floating in front of him a miniature creature. It's small masculine face had ethereal eyes and dramatic tips on its ears, very different from that of an elfs. He looked as if he was clothed in a light that wound around him to form seemingly simple garments; although they were foreign to Aragorn. Protruding outward from its back were insect like wings that was adorned with thin silver veins creating the most enchanting designs. The wings moved slowly, but it appeared as if the unknown entity needed them not to levitate. 

"What are you and what light do you reflect in this dark hour?" 

"I am called many names. The light I bear was sent form Those in the glorious realm, it was solidified by the hope you showed. " 

"All is lost. Return to the Great Ones and tell them that the all of the First Born will sail over the sea; the younger races will fall into darkness and death." 

"Even now you do not believe that. There is a small remainder of hope though it be very slight. I have come to aid the power of good, in the resistance against the Dark Lord " 

"Resistance? There will be no resistance. Truly, all discussions have said that this will be the darkest hour. Where there is no return or our urgency to prevent this was futile" 

"Have you not heard anything I have said? Be still, Lord Aragorn and look around you," it motioned to the battlefield around them. 

For a moment Aragorn was certain that he was among the stars, for the deepest darkness was still apparent but fighting it was small white lights painted amid the shadows. They were indeed the same light the flying creature possessed; brought from the Lords and Ladies past the sea. 

"They are like myself. Living hope. Now be quick, touch my hand and we will depart." 

"I will not flee the battlefield in cowardice." 

"You are our leader, Lord Aragorn. Not fear it is, but wisdom. Many will follow and unite under you, now make haste." 

  


-------   
It's far from being over. ^-^ 


	8. Of The Sorrows

Of The Sorrows  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   


Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who has reviewed.   
to ShireElf, Elizabeth, Gwen, Bana the Random, Tather, Ringbearer, xyz, Mira, Wayfarer, Q (AKA Aragorn), Nath, Quantum Weather Butterfly, Spot's Fairy, Lizzy/Tygrestick and last but certainly not least, those who signed 'Anonymous' . Thank you for your support!   
If I forgot someone, I apologize, but thank you too. 

NOTE: I renamed the elf-maiden who traveled with Arwen in chapter 5. I thought the first name I had was poorly constructed. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

"It is over then," Arwen whispered as the cloud engulfed the sky. She lowered her eyes in despair. The others around her didn't speak nor did they usher the Lady of Rivendell on, for they felt all too easily the hopelessness that came with the black shadow. With hopelessness comes confusion, and with confusion - apathy toward any previous goal and purpose. So there they stayed staring either at the cloud or at each other for many minutes. 

The sound of Isilindil's scream drew Arwen out of herself. She was then horrified to see an ugly arrow sticking out of the otherwise perfect chest of the elf maiden. Briefly Arwen beheld the face of her friend as it looked down upon the arrow in utter shock and regret. Isilindil quickly looked to her mistress then to her husband as she sank to the ground. 

"No!" the elf warrior shouted as he dismounted. Barely had he done this that they were upon them-orcs. 

Arwen pulled out her small sword and prepared to repay what they had done. Her other guide was already letting his arrows fly. 

"Stay back, my lady!" he shouted as he rode in front of her to guard her. Arwen looked down to see Isilindil's husband cradle her body. His eyes looked blankly ahead. No shred of emotion was apparent, not anger, not sadness, just nothing. 

"Findecáno! Get up! Take up your weapon!" the elf on horseback yelled to the other. No response. "Get up!" He kept his bow singing, but one elf against a band of orcs was too much. 

"Let me fight!" Arwen shouted. "Let me help you! There are too many!" 

"No, my Lady!" 

"Findecáno, take up your weapon and avenge Isilindil!" Not even a blink came from him. Despair from the darkness had gripped him, and it was a terrible thing to behold. 

They would not last long. His arrows were getting low and they were advancing. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Findecáno whisper something as the blade of an orc severed his body. It fell forward over his wife's. 

Tears began to form in Arwen's eyes. This should not be happening. They could've lived forever together in the undying lands not perish in a land ruled by the Lord of Darkness. 

Frustrated, and full of emotion and impatience, she maneuvered her steed to the left of the other horse. She dipped her short blade low decapitating an unsuspecting orc. She went for another when suddenly her support was gone. An orc had slid its blade deep across her horse sending it crashing toward the ground. Quick as any elf, Arwen twisted gracefully so it wouldn't land on her. The impact sent her sliding across the dirt ground. 

"Lady Arwen!" 

She lifted her bruised and bloodied body halfway. She searched for the one who called her name, but found him not. His horse lay dead upon her own, and the brave elf guide was lying with many orc arrows protruding from his chest-taken out while he chanced a glance at Arwen. 

The Lady of Rivendell blinked in terrified astonishment. Mere minuted ago she and her company were walking quietly from the thick of the woods. The two warriors singing lightly and jesting every so often. Isilindil was always silent in her contentment. And herself always believing that she was on her way to be a key aid to Aragorn in someway. Now, Middle-earth was taken, her companion's blood spilt on the dusty ground, and lastly herself being preyed upon by the foul creations of Sauron. 

They came closer to her; their eyes fixed on death and nothing else. 

Arwen tried to rise, but they were on her in an instant. She screamed as the one seized her arms. In desperation she shut her eyes, not wanted to see their hideous faces anymore. Suddenly, an image of Aragorn flooded her mind. And from her vision she felt hope in the smallest form. Even while the sky was bolted out and all their attempts to be rid of the Ring futile, even while she was surrounded by the servants of the greatest enemy and her escorts brutally murdered, she felt hope. 

Her revere on light was abruptly interrupted when the orc let go of her sending to sinking to the ground. She heard the orcs struggling or battling something. Looking over she was amazed to see two of the remaining eight orcs dead on the ground. Her glance darted then to something she never thought she would see. A small light was hovering before the rest. Arwen was blinded momentarily when the unnatural light grew even brighter. She reached to her temple in pain at the sudden intensity of the unexpected light in the midst of the lands in darkness. Despite her aching eyes, her ears were sharp. She perceived the end of many orcs at the sound of their gurgling screams or the sound of heavy bodies hitting the floor. 

She rubbed her eyes and ventured to gaze again on this light. What she saw was a man. He stood over the final orc as he crumbled before him, joining the others. 

Her first impression was that this was a man, but she quickly discarded that assumption. He hardly fit the description of man or elf. His enemies fell though he held no weapon. His skin appeared to be lit with a white flame. From his back there were neatly folded wings that glittered gold and silver. 

He turned to her and then faded. Arwen gasped at the abruptness of his exit. He had vanished. However, a small remainder of his brightness lingered. It drew closer to her. 

"Lady elf," a voice came. 

Arwen's eyes then saw that he had not disappeared; he shrank to a smaller form. The great man she had looked on earlier was now no bigger than her hand. 

"Are you unharmed?" 

She nodded, ignoring the minor wounds she had taken. "My utmost gratitude to you, stranger." 

"It was but a small service to such beauty," he bowed his head slightly; then proceeded to gaze on her with no words. 

The uncomfortable silence gave her a little time to gather her wits and form the question that plagued her mind. 

"Stranger, Whose child are you, for you look not of the first born nor of the second?" 

The small face of the creature flinched ever so slightly. 

"I am from who made you," he replied while landing gracefully on her raised knee. "May I know what you are called, Lady elf, for if I knew it then I would certainly know a more accurate word for Beauty?" 

Arwen frowned at his smiling face. She found it curious and frustrating that he made no attempt to explain himself or his origin to her. The land was in shadows, her entire company had been murdered by orcs, suddenly an entirely new species reveals itself and all he ventured to ask was her name? There were more important matters to discuss before this. 

"Do you come from the Valar such as it was when the wizards came abroad?" she asked ignoring his irrelevant question. 

"Of course, They from across the sea sent us to aid them who are also children." 

"Are there others like yourself?" 

"Yes, there should be many," he said quickly. "Your name, Lady?" 

She sat and studied the creature. It was hard to believe that a miracle should come to Middle-earth so swiftly, yet here it was. He didn't seem dangerous, but obviously that was deceiving. He did save her life, though still she felt that she should be wary. 

" I am Arwen of Rivendell, daughter of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell. You said you come to assist us, as you've shown by saving me. May I ask that you continue your service?" 

"That is our purpose." 

"Can you lead me to the others? Would they be aiding the Free Folk like you helped me?" 

"I shall try to guide you, Lady Arwen. Alas my knowledge is limited of the intent of my kin," with that he started off signaling for her to follow. 

Arwen stood, but at the sight of her companions lying dead with the bodies of the foul orcs she fell to her knees. She crawled to where they were and fell upon them weeping. They shouldn't have come to this. 

"My Lady?" 

"I cannot leave them like this," she said between sobs. "Please, help me lay them to proper rest." 

------- 

Nafeatir stood before the entrance that lead to her towers, to her many rooms and chambers. There she waited. She wanted - like nothing ever before - to rush in, and walk (if she could keep from dashing) the familiar path to her personal chamber. And there her eyes would find such satisfaction that no beauty in the Blessed Realm or no Wonders of Middle-Earth could ever have given, not to this woman starving for something new and pure. 

Though she hesitated, she faltered like one who seeks what they want but are afraid of the disappointment if it comes not. Her master had agreed on one plan before, and betrayed her trust by altering it without her knowledge. What was stopping Sauron from continuing with his deceptive ways? If she entered her rooms with no Hobbit in its midst then there was nothing she could do to avenge the wrongs done to her. Sauron had now the Ring of Power as well as the death of the Ring-Bearer. If Frodo was not there. 

She didn't know how long she stalled before the grand entrance; imagining what needed to be done till she actually did it. She stepped forward. If Frodo was not there and everything was a lie, she would recover though it would take many, many years of regret. Nafeatir gradually walked the halls. They turned and would merge with massive rooms with high ceilings and tiled floors; rooms with no use they were, they only served as a pause in the monotonous repeating of her halls. Every so often she would see one of her many servants. With few words she dismissed them from her dwelling till she would have need of them. 

Nafeatir was aware of the extent of her towers, yet never before did it seem to take so long to get to her chamber. In front of her sizeable double doors she again hesitated. 

"Oh, if I could but hear your breathing from here, I would be content and my doubts would be shattered" she whispered. 

Taking a deep breath, she opened and passed through the doors. To her right a fire worked in her large and long fireplace. The flames casted a red glow over her cushioned supports that sat before it. If she would to walk patiently ahead, she would come to the doors that lead to her balcony. To her left - a step higher then the rest of the floor- rested her bed, and there she saw someone. 

Relief cascaded over her. She rushed up the one step and to the side of the bed; there Nafeatir looked again on that which presently absorbed her mind and energy. After hearing his words and heart as well as after all the trouble she went through to have him, he appeared twice as fair as he did when she first saw him in Cirith Ungol. She smiled as she noted that he no longer was the average height of a halfling. 

"Awaken, dear Elenti, for the one who cares for you calls." He did not stir. She leaned closer to him, gingerly stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "So soft..Frodo?" she called to him. Again he didn't respond 

"I know what will make you rise," she said with a smile. 

She gradually lowered herself to him. Taking in small details about him as she came nearer. He mesmerized her, everything about him was fascinating to her. She looked at his lips, and drew her own closer. 

------- 

Frodo opened his eyes to find another looming over him. In panic he pushed away the hand that touched his face and he scrambled out from under the other before it touched him more. He shrank away till he was at the corner of the bed. His eyes were doubled at the sight of Nafeatir with her dark, commanding presence and piercing red eyes. 

He shook his head to clear away the remainder of a troubled sleep; he looked to his surroundings and examined more closely the shadow before him. It was a woman, yet he trembled under her gaze in fear. Frodo looked into her hideous, blood-colored eyes and knew why he felt such fear. They were like the eye the tormented him while he carried the Ring, the dreadful, unblinking eye that held such evil. 

Her face was beautiful or perhaps it could have been if it hadn't have been for her glowing eyes. Her presence was not unlike an elf-queen with many, many years behind her. She wore black that was shielded by metal coverings that looked like a combination of elvish adornment and mighty armor. A nobility and strength radiated from the lady that left Frodo contemplating whether to bow to her or prepare to defend himself. 

He looked away from her and bowed his head lightly in reverence and fear. Frodo swallowed and wrapped his arms around himself trying to gain his composure. He continued to stare at the bed, searching his thoughts. He had seen this twisted image of a beautiful woman elsewhere.. 

"Calm yourself, little one, I would never harm you," she spoke her voice low and mysterious. 

"You..." he abruptly began chancing a glance at her again. "You were the shaded maiden that walked in the realm of my dreams or..or perhaps it wasn't a dream." 

"I am reality, and was so in the dark tower of Cirith Ungol where I cared for you. I am Nafeatir, Lady of Enchantment, Loyal Servant of the Lord of Middle-Earth, and you are Frodo Baggins of the Shire." 

She was real all along. Frodo blushed somewhat at the realization that he might have said some absurd or personal things to her that day in Cirith Ungol. 

"And you are in my towers within the dwelling place of Barad-dur." 

He gazed at the shaded room. It was massive, but mostly hidden in shadows. The light of the fire seemingly had a difficult time fighting off the blackness. What he could see were large pillars and other majestic finery. Everything was quite breathtaking; still, it all gave off a sense of dread or sorrow almost like looking at the Lady's face. Attractive, yet filled you with fear and uncertainty. 

"I am sure you are plagued with many thoughts. Do not be afraid. Please, let me hear your words." 

Frodo jumped at her voice interrupting his thoughts. He did have much on his mind. Many doubts, confusions, and fears though he hardly felt like discussing them with this shaded Lady of dark. 

"Middle-earth," he said at long last. "Has it fallen under the shadows of Sauron?" 

She then fell quiet at his question. Frodo wasn't sure what to make of her sudden silence. He looked again at her, finding that she no longer stared at him relentlessly. Rather she gazed at the wall, seemingly searching for something within herself. 

"Yes," came the whispered reply. 

Frodo felt as if his heart had stopped, as if his blood stilled in his veins. He became dizzy at the overwhelming loss and guilt. He fought the urge to weep openly. 

He found himself saying: "What..what does this mean?" 

"It concerns us not!" She hissed while rising quickly. She walked with a hint of annoyance across the room to a large piece of furniture. She open a door and began searching it "Least of all you, Frodo. What you define as darkness will not reach my towers." 

Such a spell of puzzlement came upon him that he continued. "Yet if the entire land is engulfed in evil then not even those who climb the highest mountain or dwell in the tallest tower can dodge-even in the smallest form- its influence. Evil will befall them in the form of pain, death, slavery or other foul deeds of the Lord of Mordor, even though their hearts are pure. " 

She ceased her rummaging and looked on him. Frodo attempted to hold her gaze though failed; his spurt of courage was dying fast. 

"Do not be frightened. You are under my care. None of these will come to you. Therefore you are shielded from what has fallen across the land. You are not in darkness...not fully." 

Frodo barely heard her reply. His mind was occupied with visions of cruel enslavement and carnage. His friends, his family, his people, all the lovely elves, The sturdy dwarves, and the strong men, all doomed. All doomed because of his failure. His mind saw images of torture and despair for all those who looked to him for the completion of his mission. He saw them cursing his name. 

He wasn't aware of anything outside his thoughts till the presence of the Sorceress was too close for comfort. He looked up at her timidly. 

"Put these on if you wish," she handed him a couple of neatly folded garments. 

He took hold of them slowly, somewhat confused at the meaning. They he remembered his present state. The blood rushed to his cheeks dramatically with the reminder of his condition. He accepted them gratefully. 

She lingered by him for a few more seconds before leaving him to his privacy. 

------- 

Legolas drew out of the dark of sleep to more darkness. He groaned at the aches and soreness of his body. 

"My body?" he whispered. He still had feeling (quite a bit)so he can't be dead. Though how could this be? He surely must have perished on the battlefield after the dark cloud took the sky. He squinted his eyes to try and make out any familiar landmark in the darkness. After rubbing his eyes he could see that he was staring up into the tops of trees, he must be in a forest of some sort. 'But how did I get here?' 

He sat up slowly; there he found his answer. 

"You Awaken!" came an unfamiliar voice. 

Legolas looked over to see the same light that he saw before he lost consciousness. The voice came from the direction of this thing. It rushed over to his side. 

"Nay, keep your distance foreigner, for I do not know you nor what you are. These are now dark times and who knows what awaits us in the shadows?" 

Almost childlike was its response to Legolas' hostility. His face went from happiness at the sight of him to confused hurt. 

"Have I not brought you out of the very midst of danger and death?" 

"Have you?" Legolas eyed the creature warily. 

"It was I, Lord elf. My kin also aided those who are your allies." 

Legolas fingered his knife and checked to see if his bow was still with him. 

"What do you speak of? Make yourself clear or I shall make use of my weapons." 

Almost too clearly did it show its surprise. "Oh, No, no, no. You mustn't do that! I-we were sent to help you in this evil hour. We came upon you in that terrible battle and moved you and the rest from that situation which most certainly turn to ruin." 

Legolas looked around to see if any were nearby. All he saw were trees. 

"Why are we not all together?" 

"We were but born minutes ago. Even I do not know much" 

"Who sent you and what is your purpose?" 

The thing's face looked even more confused than Legolas' 

"We I- I brought you out of danger," it smiled seemingly thinking he should be satisfied with that answer. 

"Yes, I can see that. Why? Why would you draw me out of danger? What is it to you?" 

The thing sank to the ground and rested on a rock. It cradled its head in its hand as if in pain or despair. 

"I don't know. I only did what those around me were doing. Apart from that all I know it that I am Hope and that I was born not long ago." 

Legolas found this very strange indeed. Not only was this some kind of new species, but that this new entity was entirely unaware of anything. 

"Are all of you like this, unaware of...details?" 

The thing seemed to ponder this very carefully. Then quite suddenly a grin spread across his face. "Yes I remember! There are those among us-if I recall correctly-that are higher. They remember everything that was instructed to them. They are our leaders! We must find them. They and the others like you!" It sprang up from its seating place and joyfully started in one direction. 

"Come! Come!" It shouted back to him. 

"Halt! Do not hasten ahead!" Legolas yelled to it, but it was too late. 

He climbed to his feet, cradling his aching head in his hands on the way up. He didn't fully trust this thing. Although it was rather simple in mind, he couldn't let that catch him off his guard. After sighing and gathering his wits, he trotted after the small light up ahead. 

------- 

Frodo almost felt more foolish then before. What she had given him to wear was so different from what he was accustomed to. The loose white tunic was elaborate silver designs on it, even a few embedded jewels. It was something more for a prince to wear, not a Hobbit. 

The Sorceress reentered. She smiled at him in an odd way that did not help his tense manner. 

"Are you hungry? I could bring you some refreshments." 

He shook his head negatively. The last thing on his mind was food. He doubted he could keep anything down. She rested again on the bed with him, never taking her eyes off of him. He could feel her strange gaze. 

"Lady Sorceress, may I inquire about another matter?" he asked after a while 

"Yes, of course, Frodo. You are free to speak at any time." 

"I-I am a simple halfling, yet somehow, I am certain that if I stood I could easily look into your eyes and you are clearly not of my race. You are a mistress of enchantments as you have said, perhaps you know of whose or of what enchantment I am under?" 

He was startled when he heard her laughter; devoid of pleasantness it was, yet full of its own pleasure. "You have not questioned why you were brought here to my dwelling place nor why earlier I implied of keeping you here in my shelter. Do you not wonder also why I offer you kingly gift and treat you like I have done?" 

Frodo nodded, at a loss for words. 

"It is my own enchantment you are under, or perhaps my Lord's. But I am the one who sought to alter your stature and who sought to. I bring you here to keep you safe and I hope you will be happy here... with me," she looked at him in that odd way again. The way that made him squirm under her gaze. 

"What do you mean?" 

Her eyes lingered on him for a few moments before she answered. "In all the years that I've walked these lands I had never understood loneliness; I sought isolation, my own solitude was precious to me. After I saw you for the first time and had to leave your side that is when I tasted true loneliness, and it was bitter. It was then when I first loved you." 

Frodo's bafflement at her unusual words melted away to leave astonishment. Surely she was Elf-kind, the deepness in her eyes revealed many, many years. The likeness of her presence and years reminded him of Galadriel, or rather Nafeatir reminded him of the Lady of the Golden Woods when for a moment she was tempted to obtain the evil in the Ring. She was beautiful and terrible, filling him with fear as this elf-maiden did. 

"Loved me? Why would a noble and powerful Lady of the elves desire fellowship with a Hobbit?" 

"You say my power is great, yet you laid an enchantment on me that is greater. Many have spoken of my heart as being that of ice; you, however, have melted it merely in your slumber. When you thought I was a dream, my affections for you increased ever more and the sound of your voice and your words. " 

She gingerly reached over and stroked his hand. Frodo was too astounded and frightened to resist for the time being. 

"You are so unique..I know what your race is like. Pleasant, homely, and simple, but when they do indeed produce a unique halfling, his presence is more delightful then the company of all who have walked in these lands; he is more pleasing to look on then most elves and men. I only ask that you remain here, stay with me and banish these feelings of loneliness. " 

Frodo didn't reply. He couldn't. What would he say? She didn't ask that he remain, her tone of voice demanded it. 

"I am sorry, dear Frodo. I have said a great many things. I will leave you in peace for a short while. Please take some rest. I shall return shortly." 

Reluctantly she stood and walked to the door where she stopped. 

"Farewell, my love," with that she left. 

Without the pressure of her bearing he was able to think clearly. The declaration of her affections confused him, but he didn't bother with it for long. His mind was weighed down with the fate of Middle-earth. Upon her departure the guilt and shame he felt was heavier than the very Ring of Power to him. What had become of Sam? Faithful, kind, Sam who didn't deserve to be dragged out of his beloved Shire? What of noble Aragorn? Where was the strong dwarf, Gimli or the wise Legolas? What could have happened to his loved relations, Merry and Pippin? How was the good Faramir in this dark land? If the dark maiden intended to keep him here, doubted he would ever know. Was this a blessing or a curse? All he was sure of was that they would no longer enjoy the sunlight. Most likely they were being hunted down by orcs to death, slavery or torture. I could be that they cursed the failed Ring-bearer; that they regretted ever sending him to do the task. 

'Oh, how doomed was the day when Frodo Baggins first touched the Ring of Power!' his mind shouted. 

Not knowing how else to cease the thoughts and the reality of them he wept. He cried for all his companions, for all the good folk he had met, for Sam where ever he may be, for himself and his new fate, for all of Middle-earth, yet his tears gave him little comfort. 

  


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	9. Let Me Fall

Let Me Fall  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   


I originally intended for the elvish translations of the names given to Frodo to be revealed in a later chapter. But I figured it wouldn't hurt to tell a little about it.   
_Elenti_ means 'little star or small star' I've gone through many transitions to get the meaning 'little star' in elvish, and I'm reasonably certain that my construction is plausible. 

The other names _Findecáno _ means "Hair-commander" which I didn't construct, but borrowed._ Isilindil_, I'm not too sure where I got this,... I'll have to look into it.   
Anyway, thanks for your interest. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

For a moment Frodo thought he was back in the Shire, back in his cozy room in Bag End. He was warm and comfortable. He could almost smell the breakfast that Bilbo was cooking. He rolled over to lie on his back; his hands brushed against an unusual texture. It felt something like silk and then another blanket that was like velvet. His eyes shot open to find an incredibly high, and detailed ceiling, and not the plain one from his humbly room at Bag-end. 

Frodo sat up abruptly confounded at the unfamiliar coverings and majestic ceiling. It all then came rushing back in an overwhelming wave of remembrance. He was in the same dreadfully attractive chamber of the dark-maiden. The horribly tense feeling and shadows about the room remained, though without the Sorceress it was exceedingly less dismal. Apparently He must've fallen unconscious with grief after he had cried his last tear. 

For a moment he simply sat, listening to the fire crackling and his own deep breaths. His stare unfocused on the blankets around him. While he remained there, almost motionless, his fate became more and more clear to him. He, an unimportant hobbit, was at ease and 'safe' while all of Middle-earth was suffering. He was warm and in the midst of a formidable chamber as those he loved were possibly lying dead on a muddy field. And what of this unusual declaration of affection from a follower of the Dark Lord? She could not be sincere. Even from the mere seconds he had looked into her eyes he could see nothing but twisted feelings. Her mouth spoke eloquently, yet her glance uttered many dreadfully suggestive evils. He shivered at the memory of her expressions. 

His doom and the doom of Middle-earth weighed in his mind. Would he have to endure this new life? Having to live when he so obviously deserved death? And what would life be? Cursed to be a thing for the enemy to use. He shook his head in disgust. Disgust at himself for his failure, disgust at the thought of being-in some form- a slave to Sauron. It was too much to bear. He would not stay in this situation to be a play thing for a servant of Sauron's pleasure. He already gave Sauron Middle-earth; he would not have him. He would not continue in life when death is what he should have. 

Frodo stood and slowly walked across that grand room to a set of double doors. Through it he could see the open sky, or what he supposed was the sky. He opened them and stepped out onto a reasonably large balcony. It had a banister which was tall on either side of the balcony, but gradually sloped until it was no more at the very end of the structure, leaving an area where there was no support at all. One could simply walk right off the edge. 

His breath was momentarily taken away by the wild humid winds as he advanced into the horrible Mordor air. He fought against the whipping winds till he approached the bare place. 

As he peered over the side, no fear for his life invoked caution in him. Fear could find no room in a mind so occupied with failure and regret. 

"Frodo?!" he heard the chilling voice of the Sorceress. It sounded desperate, as if it had been calling his name for a while. He had failed to hear it before over the loud winds. 

"Frodo!" he turned his head to look at her momentarily. "What are you doing?" 

"I am sorry," he said while gazing at her from the corner of his eye. "I do not know what you could mean when you say you love me, but I am dead. My lands, my people, my friends are dead or dying. The task I was sent to do, I failed. Therefore, my spirit is deceased. I have but to be rid of this empty shell that holds my last breath of life. This physical body." 

For a second only did he hesitate, and then he took a deep breath - one filled with foul fumes and the stench of smoke. He swung out his foot and leaned into it. Great winds then engulfed him. 

------- 

Nafeatir didn't even have the time to plead for him to reconsider or to shout 'No.' She had to act. She muttered the foul language of Mordor that when spoken correctly caused obedience. She whispered, she screamed, she cried out for the winds of The Black Lands to hear, and to take hold with its hand that which she held dear and deliver him back to her. To her it felt like years for the words to be spoken and then heeded. She could still hear her own voice echo long after she had shut her mouth. 

For a brief moment there was silence. Suddenly the screams of a great wind came and flew up over the lip of the balcony. In their midst was a hobbit. 

Nafeatir braced herself, but it was too late. He came crashing into her with such force that she flew back and landed hard several feet from where she stood. Her armor cushioned the fall enough that there would be no major damage. 

If she had not been so worried for Frodo's safety, she would have allowed a small laugh for what just happened. Yet her anxiety outweighed her amusement. She shifted and gently laid him on his back against the floor. 

Violent coughs and gasps came from his flushed face. Her eyes searched everywhere for any hidden injury. Her hands (shaky from the closeness of the situation) flew over him in caresses, if not for his sake, then for her own. To assure herself that he would not fade away; to ensure that she would not lose him like she almost did. 

"Touch me not," he quietly said between gasps. "Unless it is a death blow." He open his eyes and looked into hers. "Kill me. For you are of Sauron's forces and therefore my foe. Slay me as your allies now slay my kin and friends," his words ended in a mere whisper. 

She shook her head. "No! Never." 

A look of despair and frustration flooded his eyes at her answer. "Then I shall do it myself," he hissed through clenched teeth. Swiftly he seized the dagger that hung on her belt, and drew it. He didn't get further then that. She swiftly knocked it out of his grasp. 

"Will you not allow me a moment of rest?" she choked out. Nafeatir wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his in a tight embrace. 

"No, no, never. I will have to bind you in an enchantment, feed you myself, and be with you every moment lest you try to harm yourself again," she whispered in his ear. "And may those who seek to harm you or slay you taste sorrow and all its lingering bitterness! Truly, may this come to pass." Her words grew in intensity at the seriousness of her last statement. "This, I swear, will be their fate. " Wanting the meaning to sink it, she allowed her words to hang between them for a few more moments. 

"Rest now," she then softly commanded. It was either his own exhausted state or the influence of the whispered words into his ear that caused him to return to sleep, where no troubles bother a small taste of peace. 

She felt his ragged breath calm against her cheek and his body go limp. Nafeatir drew back from his slumbering form. 

"Silly hobbit," she said while stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. 

------- 

It didn't take Legolas long to grow accustomed to the lack of light. He was moving at a decent rate, though unfortunately he knew not of his precise destination. He had easily caught the mysterious flying creature. Now it flew beside him, and at times it would fall behind (much to Legolas' annoyance) to admire the world around it. 

"It was much more lovely before the fall, and if there is any hope like you claim then we best hurry to find the others," he had said to keep it moving. 

Legolas felt some remorse for not asking its name, or anything to address it by then merely 'it'. However, he was anxious to find the remainders of his company. He didn't want to stop to ask trifle questions. 

At first the nameless being had bombarded him with enquiries after Legolas had him traveling beside him. Asking him about his family and his ancestors, about the land he was prince in and then branching off into all kinds of other areas of interest. At times he would surprise the elf with some knowledge that he assumed the ignorant thing would have no grasp of. He was a quick learner. Even so, Legolas was not a willing teacher. So their conversations had lessened and their speed had increased. 

Had it been hours since they began? Surely it must have been days. Days of an endless shadowy land. Nothing but deep grays shrouded the world leaving only the ominous black tree visible. All other details were lost in this new world. 

For a moment only, Legolas wondered if he was the only inhabitant still living, for the silence was dreadful. Only the slight rustle of his footsteps could be heard. He would be relieved though alert at the sound of the wind. 

Suddenly, something so abrupt and peculiar sounded within hearing that the prince actually jumped ever so slight. He remained still and waited for it to come again. It was the sound of careless noise-making; almost joyful in was. 

Legolas glanced at his companion. As usual, his amazement was all too apparent on his face. He looked at the elf and quickly regained a straight, sober face, seemingly catching on to Legolas' characteristics. Legolas nodded at him, and changed direction to the origin of the odd voice. 

Through a clearing he saw a small group of men gathered together. Legolas looked closer to make out their armor, but he was already certain that these were from the same battlefield as he, for he saw the same little creatures like the one with him. One flying creature was speaking with a couple of solemn men in hushed, but heated tones. Another man sat and stared at nothing in particular and still another lie with an audience of the small foreigners around it to hear the sound that had caught Legolas' attention earlier, the most unlikely sound in such times: laugher. 

Legolas could see no further reason to conceal himself. He confidently strode into their presence. At the sight of him three of the men quickly jumped up and pulled out their weapons. 

"Peace, fellow soldiers. I am Legolas of Mirkwood. I too shared the battlefield where we were all curiously snatched away from." 

Before he could continue or the others could reply the one lying down spoke. 

"Legolas!" 

The elf peered past the men to see who it was that was being recklessly loud. At the sight of the other he himself forgot caution. 

"Why, Master Pippin! I am overjoyed to see you that you are alive and well." 

"Alive yes, in good health, unfortunately no." 

Indeed, Pippin was frightfully pale and had many bandages-caked with blood-around his small body. 'He should have never been at the battle,' though Legolas. 'One so small, even though he may be brave, should not have been exposed to such danger.' 

Legolas' saw a blur of light speed past his face. It settled inches from Pippin's nose. 

"And what might you be?" Legolas' small companion asked Pippin with obvious interest. Pippin laughed at the sudden appearance and question. 

"Why, I am a hobbit." 

"A hobbit? Be that some form of Man or Dwarf?" 

"Oh, no, no, I'm a halfling, little folk we are. We live in the Shire area which is far from the big folk." 

Legolas wondered how could something so oblivious to anything be a help in the redemption of Middle-earth. 

"You know this elf, Master Halfling?" asked one of the men, interrupting the discussion on halfings. Legolas saw that he was dressed in what was once very fine armor; now it was soiled and torn in multiple places. His face was grim and wise, as though it was chiseled out of stone to portray a great man of men. The elf knew that he was a noble leader. A man to be trust especially during this evil hour. 

"Yes, Captain Bardia He is a close friend of mine." 

Bardia didn't seem too convinced. He eyed him warily. Legolas wondered if this was so because he was an elf, perhaps the only one who fought with the forces of men during this struggle against Sauron. The Captain looked from Pippin to Legolas then finally upon the Elf's flying companion. 

"Very well then, he may camp with us till we move again." 

"Many thanks be to you, good man of Gondor,"said Legolas with a slight nod. 

"I have been trying to discover fit names for my delightful company. Although every time I suggest a proper, respectable hobbit name they laugh heartily. Perhaps you can help me chose appropriate names," said Pippin with a bright smile. 

Legolas returned the smiled genuinely; the first time he had since the darkness fell upon them, and perhaps longer than that. 

"Of course, master hobbit. I shall join you momentarily, bu first I must speak to the others." He turned to speak with the Captain. 

"Legolas," Pippin's voice dramatically changed from cheerfulness to seriousness. Legolas turned back to him. 

"Does all this mean that Merry is in extreme danger for being at Minas Tirith and that..that Sam and Frodo are..?" 

"Take heart young hobbit," Legolas replied. " I will not try to build your hopes up in terms of our loyal ring-bearers, but there may yet be a chance for your cousin Merry." 

Pippin lowered his head, and nodded slowly. 

------- 

Nafeatir finished sealing the lock on the door to the balcony and so concluded the purging of the area Frodo would be exposed to. She felt somewhat relieved, but hardly satisfied. She sighed in frustration and glanced in the direction of the great doors joining her room to the one she gave the hobbit. 

He hasn't spoken to her. Not one word has he given her. Not since he attempted to take his life. From the moment he awoke he hardly even glanced at her, and when he did it was full of fear. She tried to drive speech out of him, but it had been hopeless. Nafeatir figured that this would pass, and that he simply needed some time alone to soak everything in. She had led him to the chamber next to hers, telling him that it was his. He quickly took back the hand she was holding, and slowly walked to a window seat. He sat there and set his sight far away. Seemingly not seeing the images outside his window, more like looking within his mind and memories. 

And there she left him. It had been over a day now. Frodo had gone without sleep and food though she came in often to offer a small feast to him. He hadn't even moved from his place at the window. He merely sat and stared. For this reason she was beginning to get frustrated. His reactions thus far had all been negative, causing so much perplexity of the mind for the shallow enchantress. 

Nafeatir quietly crossed the room to his door which was ajar ever so slightly. She peered in at the unusual mortal. There was no change. Nafeatir watched Frodo as he continued in this unrelenting silence. There was nothing rude or haughty about his quiet manner, just an overpowering sense of loss, regret and sorrow. 

She was beginning to get somewhat impatient at this distant behavior of his. She yearned more than anything for him not to look at her in the way he did now: fearfully. She longed to spend time with him like she did in the tallest tower of Cirith Ungol. To hear his enchanting voice speak of the depth of his love for knowledge. 

Suddenly, she remembered something that might cause a reaction in her hobbit. She hurried to the other side of her room and picked up a jeweled chest, resting it in her arms. 

"Frodo," she finally spoke returning to the door. He tensed at her voice, but made no other response toward her. She waited, hoping for a reply, but her word was empty; never meant to be answered or acknowledged. 

Nafeatir pushed the door open and confidently approached Frodo. 

"I've brought you something, Dear Elenti." 

She opened the chest to reveal many books and writings of different shapes, sizes and style. Frodo tore his eyes from the window and timidly looked in her direction. For an instant only a change came over his features. Interest at the literature in her arms and forgetfulness at his present fate. Unfortunately it faded all too soon, and he stared at the chest with the familiar sadness in his eyes. 

"And this is just a small portion of what I will have brought in for you." 

Nafeatir set the chest down across from him on the window seat. 

"If you would join me, I could read you some of the most fascinating tales and facts you've ever heard." 

He shifted his gaze to the floor and then back out the window. 

"Please, Frodo, come with me," she held out her hand as an invitation, but it was silently refused. 

'Why must he be like this?' she thought as her eyes bore into him almost wrathfully.'Surely he had enough time to sort out the changes that had come to him. Why hadn't he accepted?' She dropped her arm, and her hand that was friendly and appealing was now balled up in a tight fist beside her. 

And so she left him again. Her patience was growing very thin, indeed. 

  


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	10. Opaque

Opaque  


Kenobi 

Author's Notes:   
My most sincere apology for the wait on this one. I've been working on my new web-site (look on my profile to check it out) and it has taken all of my free time. Anyway, here's chapter 10 and in the next few days I'll have the next chapter up to compensate for my tardiness. 

**Okay, due to the late hour and me being so forgetful I let this thing be shown when I hadn't even decided on a name. So here is it again with it more complete and me feeling like a daft git. So thank you wonderful reviewers for pointing this out to me. ** 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Arwen lifted her head where she had buried it in her arms after laying to rest the last of her departed companions. Her eyes looked around her, but her mind was busy surveying her options. 

A small light interrupted her thoughts. He hovered before her for a second before landing gracefully on her raised knee. He smiled beautifully at her. 

He really was an unusual creature. Aside from the fact that he was something absolutely new to the land, he himself was odd. They stayed and merely looked at each other for many minutes. She expected him to say something to her-anything- but he didn't. He just stared and smiled. Finally the awkwardness of it all broke with her voice. 

"What is your name, stranger? I can't keep addressing you as 'stranger'." 

"I was hoping that you would bestow a name on me, my lady." 

"Me?" Arwen asked somewhat taken back. "Have you no name for yourself?" 

"Some of us are not privileged with that gift." 

Arwen was silent for a moment going through the proper requirements that come with naming someone. 

"You shall be called Manëdur from now on" 

"Thank-you, lady Arwen," he said as he appeared to grow brighter with satisfaction. 

"Come, my new friend. Mourning time is over. We must work to avenge what has been done if the hope you declare be genuine." 

Arwen rose and with her Manëdur flew up and started slowly (so she could keep up with him) through the dense woods. At first Manëdur appeared almost happy by the way he flew in lovely unseen patterns. Possibly from what she just did for him. Eventually, after he glanced back at her thoughtful face, he ceased. 

They traveled in quiet for many hours. Arwens thoughts were always with Aragorn. She didn't doubt that he lived; nevertheless, she was worried. She longed to be reunited with him, and hear his strong, calm voice in this now quiet evil. 

"What do you think about, my lady?" 

The question came so abruptly and unexpectedly that Arwen stopped her stride for a moment to look at her guide. 

"What do you mean?" 

An unreadable look came over his face that she couldn't interpret. 

"He whom you think about. Who is he?" 

Arwen blinked once and then started on her way before answering him. "Lord Aragorn, Heir to the Throne of Gondor. A mighty man is he who is the reason for every step I take." 

"A man, my Lady? One who does not share in your immortality." 

This thought hadn't plagued her mind in years. Long ago she had overcome the fact that she would be giving up the gift of her people for the love of a man. No longer did it embitter her mind, nay did it ever? Though curious that Manëdur should bring this into light. She continued on, not bothering answering. 

------- 

Nafeatir hadn't left her main areas since Frodo had frightened her with the balcony incident. Though that day she had too. So she left him-seeing no danger with him always idle- and tended to a few tasks. She returned and panicked when she walked through her doors and heard a curious noise coming from his room. She rushed from the door, not bothering to close it, and entered his room. 

She found him curled up in a corner hugging his knees tightly. His body shook curiously . 

"Frodo? Are you well?" 

He stiffened at her voice, obviously not noticing her presence till she spoke. He tried to stifle his sobbing, but failed. His weeping was what she had heard. 

"Why do you cry? Why do you weep so often?" Many times she would see silent tears rush from his eyes. Though nothing quite this dramatic. 

He did not answer. He didn't even look at her. 

"You are not alone," she tried to guess what was troubling him. "I am here." 

Again he didn't respond. His sobbing continued. 

For a moment Nafeatir stared at him as he proceeded to ignore her. He should not be like this. He should be happy and content, for that was her intent when she brought him here. He should be joyful and telling her of his land and his life, while she in turn would tell him of the tales she had read and experienced also. Her master ruled now, making her one of the highest in all Middle-Earth. And he was her beloved. He himself was a prince in all the lands now. She could grant him anything he wanted if he but ask. So why did he continue with this frustrating behavior? 

"Please, speak to me." 

Nothing came from him, but his relentless shedding of tears. 

"I only wish for one word. To taste one sweet word from your lips would satisfy me for an eternity. I beg you talk to me. Tell me why you weep." 

She was growing tired of his refusal to do as she had envisioned. He never said anything to her. He never looked at her. He would recoil from her touch so quickly and at times violently that she hardly ventured to do so fearing that she would startle him or have him hurt himself. 

Nafeatir showered him with gifts of fine elvish garments and finery. She gave him a room of empty notebooks, scrolls and loose paper. For an instant only he seemed impressed. Too quickly did this one second of happiness cease. She never saw him put a pen to the white sheets. She would set chests full of books in his room for his enjoyment. They only gathered dust. Three times a day if not more she would set before him a feast that he would only stare at, every so often he would take a meager nibble. Once she threatened to tie him down and force feed him if he did not feed himself. He was far to thin for anyone let alone a hobbit. 

She had done everything for him, yet he never gave her any satisfaction. Frustrating, indeed. 

"Speak!" she finally raised her voice at him. "Now!" 

Her sudden shouts made him jump and then actually looked at her. His look was not very rewarding. His already tear filled eyes beheld her with fear, hurt. Remorse then filled her as she saw what she had done. 

"Oh, Frodo," she approached him closer. "I am sorry." 

She bent down to touch him in a way to say that she meant her apology. He moved quickly to avoid her hand and then bolted up and out of the room. 

She sighed heavily in failure. Its no wonder that he hated her. She only succeeded in harming him. 'I am evil.'she thought bitterly. She recalled what her master had said about her. How she was dark and Frodo was light. Can there be fellowship between these two? Would she really end up hurting Frodo beyond healing? 

Nafeatir didn't pursue him. It would only make matters worse. She listened as his footsteps descend somewhere into her many, many chambers. 

------- 

While Legolas sat speaking with Pippin, and as Aragorn interrogated the creature that had brought him out of the battle; when Nafeatir considered her own many faults and Arwen continued her trek through the dark woods, a great house of good was attacked and overtaken. Rivendell, home to many elves and to the great Lord Elrond, experienced a new wave of darkness, one consisting of blades and fire, of evil creatures of Mordor and corrupted men. 

Imladris only light then were the flames that engulfed it. 

------- 

Frodo ran, though where precisely he didn't know. He just had to get away. He had to hold on to the one shred of sanity he still had. Death couldn't relieve him, not while he remained in the sorceress' towers. Not while she was always there. That look in her eye drove him mad so much that he wondered how he had lasted this long. 

He stopped in front of her main door, the door that lead to the rest of Barad-dur. He recalled how massive and ominous the castle of the Dark Lord had looked merely from far away. The thought that he was in its midst was overwhelming. Even if he could get out of the labyrinth of her chambers, it was impossible to actually escape from Barad-dur, let alone Mordor. 

Caution and sense were far from his mind then, so when he saw that the main doors were a crack open, he took his chances. Normally the doors would be shut tight and locked. She must've heard him and forgot to tend to the lock. 

Frodo quickly looked behind him to see if she had followed him. He saw no one and continued on his way to freedom. Whether in actuality or in death -if he finds it in his attempt to be free. 

He rushed as silently as any hobbit down the wide halls, trying so hard not to look at the statues that lined them. They stood on either side, unnaturally tall and intimidating. Men with fancy shields and thick swords, or women whose beautiful faces were more frightful then the weapon of their male companions. He could almost feel their hollow eyes upon him, their hands reaching out for him. He ran faster only to be welcomed with more stone people around every turn he took. 

Finally he found himself in an intermediate chamber with colossal columns. He stopped and marveled at their size as he caught his breath. From the other side of the room came rushed footsteps. Frodo sucked in some air and scrambled around to the other side of the column. He hunkered down and pressed himself close to the cold surface of it. The footsteps came closer and then started to descend to where he had come from. All but one set. He heard it stop as the other went on. Quiet settled again; till a low sniffing sound could be heard. Frodo trembled momentarily. He bit his lower lip and forced his body to stop and stay still. The sniffing then stopped. He waited for the orc to continue with the others, but all that remained was silence. 

"Come out little rat." 

Frodo looked over to see him standing a little more than two feet away, fingering the blade at his hip. Frodo didn't fear death nor pain, just being brought back to the haunting cage. So he made a run for it. He ran as fast as his long idle legs could muster. He heard the thing curse behind him and follow him. He would eventually catch him, and hopefully he'd do Frodo a favor and be rid of him, or perhaps Frodo would be fortunate enough to lose him. Perhaps he would find freedom. 

These thoughts were shattered as soon as he made it out of the huge room and was greeted with numerous other servants of the Sorceress. A moment only did they linger till they lunged for him. Frodo dodged some, moving in any direction to avoid capture. Before he knew it, they had him cornered. He felt like a trapped animal as he gazed into the faces of his hunters. A grimy hand seized him. Frodo wrestled with the one till he was absolutely overcome. He was roughly pressed on his face as they got a better hold of his arms and hands. He was pulled to his feet and ushered forward. 

The huge orc who held Frodo's arms tightly behind him pushed him till he was again in the massive intermediate room before Nafeatir's main chambers. He was prodded forward into the middle of the area. The orc then harshly threw him down on his knees mere seconds before she came into the room. 

"Elenti!" he heard the so familiar voice of the sorceress exclaim. It was quickly followed by hurried footsteps in his direction 

"Are you all right?" she fell on her knees to get a better look at him. 

Frodo tried to avoid her eyes as she lifted his face for inspection. He winced as she brushed her thumb across an area on his face. He caught the sight of blood on her finger and then the same color flashed brightly in her eyes. There was quite a struggle when he was cornered. The orcs weren't too cautious about harming him. 

"Who did this?" her tone had dramatically changed. No longer was it concerned and almost panicky as it was when she addressed him. As she presented the question to those who had brought him back, her voice seeped from her lips like a slow, deadly poison. She stood and approached those behind the hobbit. 

Frodo shivered at her gradual menacing presence. It was what truly frightened him about her. The underlying sense of dread that hung around her, even when her face and words were on the sweeter side. He closed his eyes, wishing he could cease his ability to hear as easily. The language of the orc came anyway. At first it sounded defiant and then pleading. He waited for the sorceress to reply, but it never came in the way Frodo assumed. Her blade spoke for her. The grotesque noise of metal severing flesh, followed by a throaty gurgle, and then the sickening thud of a lifeless body sinking to the ground resounded through the hall. 

Since the start of his journey, Frodo had seen and heard many things that normally a hobbit wouldn't be exposed to. He knew that this woman was brutal, he knew she was evil, but he hadn't experienced any manifest of her real self till that moment. He recalled the way she looked at the orcs and the way she glared down on him earlier before he fled her presence. They were one in the same. 

He heard her footsteps. The same sounds of death started over. 

The sheltered hobbit couldn't take it, even if they were only orcs. He pressed his hands against his ears, and closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out. 

After a few moments of depriving himself of sight and hearing he chanced a peek. He tried to convince himself to glance behind, but his body wouldn't comply with what his mind was considering. He only stared at the elaborate patterns on the huge slabs of tile. He occupied his minds with the origin of the designs rather than be forced to visualize the carnage behind him. 

Just when he decided that the floor leaned more toward the dwarves then any other race, something flowed over the artwork. From the corner of his eye he watched as the black blood oozed into his line of vision. 

Frodo's breathing increased. He tried to curl up inside himself more than he was already. He jammed his hands harder against his head and shut his eyes again. 

He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. His hand flew back to regain his balance. Unfortunately his fingers landed in the very puddle of black liquid he didn't even wish to look upon. Frodo drew his hand back and desperately tried to relieve it of the blood. He barely noticed the hot liquid that began to run down his cheeks. 

"Elenti, my Elenti, I never meant for you to see that. Forgive me." Looking unusual in her face was a slight hint of remorse and failure. 

Frodo looked long into her betraying eyes, perhaps the longest he had ever, and wanted so much to proclaim to her that she was a liar. How dare she even utter words of love and forgiveness when even she was aware of her own cruelty. What would happen when she lost her patience with him? Would she do something far worse then merely raise her voice to him? Would she kill him without another thought as she did with the orcs? 

"Come, Frodo," she finally said while offering her hand to him. 

  


-------   
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	11. Fairytale

Fairytale  


Kenobi 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Nafeatir had hoped for change in Frodo behavior after the earlier incident with the orcs. Any change would, in some way, be relieving. She deeply regretted the fact that he had witnessed her awful temper two times already, but the thought that these might frighten him into being more vocal was pleasing. Although, as usual, he had returned to his most loved area to stare into a world dying as he let himself die. 

No matter how much she pressed him to care for himself and to engage in something that will give him joy she knew the undeniable truth was that he was dying. If he continues down the path he's chosen, he will eventually receive what he so longs for: death. 

'And it is not within my power to stop it!' she thought bitterly. She had tried. She meditated on nothing else, but on means to preserve the one she cared for. Her threats toward him if he didn't care for himself were soon becoming useless. Perhaps she had attempted to make him happy with too much effort. So much so that she had failed miserably. She only succeeded in showing him her true colors. Revealing to him who it was she expected him to return affection to: herself, a cruel, wicked woman. 

Why had she been so careless when she shouted at him, or when she killed a few orcs for not being cautious? Had she failed completely? 

"No," she said aloud. She would try again. She strode over to his door. 

"My prince?" she entered his room and approached him carefully. She ignored the fact that his gaze had lowered to show timidness and fright. "How would you like to learn a few arts and skills from me? I could teach you the basics in welding a blade. I could show you the elvish arts in writing and painting, if you but speak to me." 

Of course he didn't comply. Nafeatir knew this would be his reaction, but she had to try. 

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I would never harm you. I too am suffering here. Please have some compassion on me and chase away this dreadful loneliness, and I am certain that you also could benefit from a little fellowship," she paused to try and sum up what she was trying to say. 

"At least be by me," Nafeatir pleaded with her mute company. His sorrowful gaze turned from the window and looked into her eyes Even though he refused to speak his eyes told her all of his inner turmoil. She would give anything, she would do anything to have him smile again and be rid of the anguished look he had on his face. 

"Come, I will relay to you a tale that is lost to almost all in the known lands." She moved closer to him. Slowly she reached down and took hold of his hand. Surprisingly he did not recoil or resist as she pulled him from the room she gave to him. She lead him through her room, past the wide double doors that lead to her grand fire place. She settled herself among the many cushions that lay on the wide sitting area before the fiery hearth. Nafeatir tugged on his hand to join her. His hand quickly left hers. She saw that he wasn't favoring her idea. 

"Please, Frodo, sit by me," she pleaded. He never even looked at her. The stubborn Hobbit instead sat shyly at the other end of the support. He drew up his legs and wrapped his arms around them as he stared the fire. 

Annoyed at his apprehensiveness, she flowed over to his side and firmly placed her hand on his shoulders. He jumped at the contact. 

"Shhh, Frodo," she said as she gently pushed him backwards so that his head rested in her lap. For a few short minutes his head lay there before he abruptly tried to sit up. She stopped him by placing a hand on his chest. 

"Shhh," she whispered. "Just relax and watch the flames dance while I speak." 

He made no attempt to move so she started. 

"When the foundations of the world were not yet settled, and before the coming of the mortals, The Great Ones across the sea set in the sky the fruit and flower of the Trees of Valinor. The Sun and the Moon. And the Holy Ones saw that they required some of the lesser Ainur to guide the vessels of Light. They chose Tilion to guide the Moon, and the maiden Arien they chose to be the keeper of the Sun. A mighty spirit was she, a spirit of fire. On leaving Valinor she forsook her form which was liken to ours and she was as a naked flame. 

For many, many years she rode across the skies with little change except for the beginning entanglement with the island of the Moon. Then with the coming of men came the coming of when she faltered. One clear morning she gazed over the mountains and beheld a sleeping mortal. Endymoin was he whom she looked upon with wonder. A beautiful and simple youth of man scarcely out of his childhood whose occupation was to tend to the grazing animals of the field. The untamable fire that lived within Arien's heart was cooled by his unusual, and surpassing beauty. Come the next morning she found him again on the verge of slumber. His sleepy gaze watching the warmth of the first rays of sunlight that spilled over the hills. Aside from sleep in his eyes she could see the dreams his mind fancied. He would stay up in the night his mind alive with the wonders of the world and shortly before sunrise or after he would claim his much needed rest. 

Her love for the youth soon became unbearable that she abandoned her fiery chariot for a while and came down to him while he slept. Taking back her body-like appearance, she rested beside him on the green grass. She watched with delight as the soft wind blew his dark hair about his fair face. She listened with pure joy and the mere sound of his breathing. Finally she advanced on him and placed a kiss on his lips. 

For an eternity she lived in that moment. When she looked away, she discovered that her duty to the Light of the sky was terribly neglected. With great haste she disrobed of her feminine appearance. She returned to that which she was bound to before disaster occurred in the sky. 

Though such an event could not go unnoticed. Her superiors saw, but they did not reach Arien nor her beloved before the Dark Lord Morgoth did. For he greatly feared Arien and the Light but dared not come nigh to her. Alas, now was a weakness revealed in which he could perhaps in a small way hurt the Light of the morning. 

Many questioned the sinking of the sun, and while it first started to stray from its course a servant of the Evil One searched for the answer. Before Arien tore herself from the side of the youth she loved, he saw and perceived what evils could be done because of this. 

When Tilion had his reign of the sky is when Arien was summoned before the Valar. 

During that same night when Arien had no power the servants of Morgoth ventured into the open field and seized Endymoin while he gazed at the stars. They plotted to carry him off to the land of their master where some unthinkable cruelties were awaiting the weakness of the Sun. But the youth struggled and almost slipped from his captors. Morning was nigh and the slaves of dark knew of the punishment if they did not succeed. Endymoin ran almost assured of escape. When in desperation the servants were able to release one arrow before the sunlight stretched its waking muscles across the fields. In a panic the attackers fled. 

Although she was discouraged from her affections, she determined to gaze upon his fair face and touch his soft skin one last time. She looked for him on the hill and saw him not. She beheld his scattered flock and wondered anxiously where her beloved had gone. At last she found him in the woods lying face down among the leaves. She appeared before him again clothed in a humanly body and called his name. 

'Endymoin, Endymoin. Why do you not slumber on the hills where my rays watch over you?' On approaching him she saw the deadly weapon in his body and the blood surrounding him. 

'Endymoin! Endymoin!' she cried, sinking beside him and pulling him into her arms. She removed the defiled weapon from his body quickly in anger. She wept, and as the tears fell from her eyes they boiled on her cheeks. 

As a sunrise to one who had not seen one so was her joy when his eyes opened and looked upon her for the first time. Their eyes locked and they stared in amazement at each others radiant eyes. The mortal had to look away for they were even too bright for the elves to look upon for a long time. She herself thought that his own were too brilliant to look away from. 

'My beloved,' she said, stroking his face. The beautiful youth was astounded at the words of endearment in which the splendorous being spoke. Even greater with his astonishment when she leaned over and pressed her lips against his. 

'I love you,' she whispered in his ear answering all his unspoken questions. 

Time passed and still she held him not allowing him to exit that realm. Alas she felt him slipping away, his frail life leaving her. And with what she was certain was his final breath came a deep, healthy intake of air and he closed his eyes for eternity-though only in sleep. 

While she was holding him, her chariot of the sky remained inanimate instead of wandered the many paths of the heavens. Tilion soon rode across and the two vessels met. Hearing the lament of Arien he found her holding a dying mortal. He was moved by the intense sorrow of Arien. Being the one who brings the light into the dark, Lord over the night he thought to bestow upon the boy perpetual sleep united with perpetual youth, thus saving his life, but dooming him to eternal sleep...." 

Nafeatir ended abruptly from her steady rhythm of words trying to recall the ending of the story. 

"It is not truly known where Endymoin rests in his everlasting slumber, but it is known that since he strayed often in dreams while he was awake it was a blessing to be bound to them. For when Arien ends her morning duty she meets him there, in dreams." 

Nafeatir heard him sigh slightly. She closed her eyes searching her memory for the song of Arien and Endymoin. She had discovered the song among her many transcripts that were plundered from the elves and men. The tale she knew very well and needed not to read it from a book. 

Quietly and with an ethereal voice she began: 

From the Sun the majestic maiden flies   
Forever and eternal her task for all the days   
To guide the lights and create the sunrise   
To frighten away the nights shades of greys 

Aloft her vessel she saw beauty's eyes   
Among the beasts of the field who graze   
For him, her heart would only abide   
With Endymoin, Her Endymoin it stays 

Endymoin! Endymoin!   
Whose name means secure! 

Forsaking her holy tasks and mountain highs   
And Filled with awe she left the Sun's pathways   
To kiss the fair mortal for to her it was wise   
Coming down to him while in dreams he strays 

The Dark One saw and eternally against her he vies   
To seize her love, he plans and frays   
They try to contain the mortal, but against his captors he thrives   
So they let fly an arrow and her love the Evil One preys 

Endymoin! Endymoin!   
Where is your Soul secure? 

While Endymoins blood upon the grass dries   
Maiden of the Morning Light looks for her lovers gaze   
When found, hope sprang in her heart when his lids arise   
And looking at her for the first time he lays in amaze 

To Tell him of her undying love she tries   
To her words and kisses death remained unfazed   
Amidst the tears and sorrowful sighs   
This youth, the Darkness enviably slays 

And so the Moon who heard her grief and cries   
Goes to set his nightly power ablaze   
Banished his doom, in sleep not death Endymoin lies   
And in his dreams the two meet and there their love overlays 

Endymoin! My Endymoin!   
Your heart, your Soul is secure   
Safe with the one who loves you! 

Nafeatir ended the song and started another. 

Endymoin, My Endymoin   
Your heart, your soul is safe for eternity   
Held dearly by the one who longs to join   
To join you in the fields of purity 

On finishing the small piece that she wrote, she leaned down and kissed the brow of her own slumbering mortal. The first time he had allowed sleep to take him in many, many days."My Endymoin," she whispered 

------- 

Aragorn laid back against the grass. The first rest he was able to have in days. Since his first encounter with the small creature, which he dubbed their unknown race as fairië meaning freedom, he hadn't had a moments rest from discussing and traveling. The fairië known as Valain knew much of their purpose. Aragorn didn't find this unusual until Valain went on to explain that only a few of them knew why they were sent and recalled their names and backgrounds. 

"There are those of us who are lesser, and very impressionable. Only a few are the leaders. Those who are do not remember their name or purpose will rally under those who do." 

"Why did the Great Ones send so many who do not know even their very names? Or why didn't they send you before the Ring was recovered by Sauron? That way it might have been prevented." 

"The answers to these are one in the same. They were hesitant, because we are of an uncertain branch. What could you have done with many small 'fairiës' who are dumbfounded at their own existence? We were sent now as a final attempt to aid you. The Great Ones were not eager to send us at the first sign of evil. " 

"Still, the ones like you, the leaders, might have been beneficiary." 

After Aragorn had said this, he had become very quiet. Seeming to try and remember something important. Aragorn interrupted his thoughts to ask him what was on his mind. He replied only that he couldn't remember. 

"So, it is not only the lesser ones who have memory problems." 

Valain nodded solemnly and continued with what he did know. Of their abilities and strategies. They were likened to Melian and the Wizards. They could become the size of a man, though only temporarily, not for longer than a day. They were able to be hidden and hid great numbers of people. 

"You can move men like you did with me from the battlefield." 

"Nay, that was only a one time gift to be given." 

"Then I suggest we start journeying through this dark to find the others. If there are any more details you may tell them to me on the way." 

So they had begun a trek that had lasted much longer than both of them had anticipated. From early on, Aragorn was able to identify that they were well on the other side of the Misty Mountains, close to Rivendell. Though he knew not precisely where they were going since they were actually searching for the others. He had also found no signs of the others to follow. 

"Why is it that we are all so far apart?" he had asked. 

" It was difficult enough to do what we did. Conveniences couldn't be made." 

And so after days of fruitless hunting Aragorn allowed himself some time to recuperate. He had laid down while his companion had gone off abruptly saying that he would return shortly. So finally he was left to his thoughts. The tides had turned so suddenly that even he was overwhelmed. There was so much he had to do now, and there was so much he wanted to do. His conversations with Valain had actually brought out an overabundance of assurance and hope for the future of Middle-earth. When the fairië had pronounced Aragorn leader of this oncoming resistance, he wasn't intimidated. He still had a few doubts concerning whether he should be leader or if Valain himself should. Valain had swiftly corrected him. The fairië was much like Gandalf in the area of ruling, he would only advise and aid with what little power he would dare to use. 

The first task to be done was to find all those willing to take a stand and arrange some sort of company or many small companies. He would have to set up leaders and find provisions quickly before these were snatched from him by the waves of Saurons forces. And all this was only the beginning. 

All this was vastly important, although for Aragorn personally he wondered about Arwen, and about those others who were close to him. Had Legolas and Gimli survived long enough to be brought out of battle? Was Gondor and all its good people being engulfed in flames? How were the loyal cousins of Frodo? He immensely wondered on how the original quest had come to an end? The death of Frodo and Sam has weighed heavily on Aragorn's mind. 

Suddenly Valain rushed through the clearing ending Aragorn's thoughts. 

"I have found a group, hurry!" He exclaimed and then turned back around, retracing his path. 

------- 

The bright light flew through the thick fogs that surrounded Barad-dur. It stopped to look at the colossal stronghold. The female features of this small being smiled and continued to search the many openings of the Dark Lord's castle. After almost an hour and hundreds of different sized windows and crack she finally found the one she was looking for. 

She quickly rushed to the small slit in the stone wall. She peered in to see someone who was very out of place. Slowly She floated in and then proceeded to imitate the curious male in size. No longer was she simply a little luminous creature like those who belonged to her kind. She was a brilliant, tall female; unique in her features. She looked down on the male who returned her gaze, but with wonder and fear. He was dressed finely as of royalty though his expressions betrayed him. He was not one who was brought up in a lofty position. He was fair with his pale skin and bright eyes, though no elf held such a look in their eyes. 'So what could he be?' She wondered. No doubt this same question danced in his mind also. 

"What is one such as you doing in the Dark Lands, little princeling?" she asked 

"Frodo?" came another voice from behind her. She angled herself so she could see the newcomer. An elf maiden strode confidently into the room. The eyes of the elf showed that she had many years behind her. Their color also suggesting her dabbling in the dark arts. Her blood red eyes never left the intruder's face. 

The one she addressed as Frodo looked over to her. 

"Go into my chamber, Frodo. Now," the elf commanded. 

He gazed swiftly back between the two before he stood to obey the elf. She waited till he was completely out of range before speaking. She closed the door behind her and took a few more steps into the room. 

"What business do you have here, stranger? How did you come to be here without me knowing of it?" 

"Tell me, Nafeatir, who was that fair male?" 

She could see that she was angering the elf. Her anger flashed apparently in her eyes. Nafeatir lifted her chin slightly and spoke with the power in her voice that she always had. 

"He is Prince Elenti, Lord Endymoin, my betrothed. He is bound to me." 

"I can't even recall one instant when you were that interested in the opposite gender," she said smiling. She was obviously angering the dark elf. 

"Who are you? And why do you claim to know me?" 

"Don't you remember? So many, many years ago, ages perhaps. When the Eldar still dwelt in the glorious realm with the servants of the Valar." 

"Morghue." 

"Yes, my old, dear friend," Morghue responded with some mockery in her tone. 

"But what is this facade you wear? How be it that you roam Middle-earth." 

"Have you been in this tower for so long now that you know not of our existence? Or does Sauron's forced not yet know of the new threat?" 

"Threat?" Nafeatir laughed coldly. "What could you possibly do to us?" 

Morghue moved closer to the elf. "You soon will see, my friend. The Great Ones finally had pity on me and many others and gave us these physical forms," she emphasized her point my lightly batting her wings. She turned her back on the perplexed elf and scanned the room. She brushed her hand across the velvety coverings on the bed. She walked past the many stacks of books, scrolls and blank writing paper, and eyed the almost peaceful artwork depictions on the walls. 

"Spoiling this one, Nafeatir? He is an unusual looking fellow. What is he? That is, what is his race? I can't seem to place it." 

"Do not speak of him again! I do not wish to hear of one so perfect from the mouth of something so flawed." 

"Overprotective of this one too, I see." 

Morghue heard hasty footsteps advancing as well as the sound of a blade leaving its resting place. Nafeatir seized Morghue's arm and whirled her around. She angled the tip of the sword under her chin. Morghue allowed this show of anger to play out. 

"You heard me, witch," they stood staring at each other for a couple minutes before the elf backed off, and put the sword back where it had come from. Morghue watched as she turned on her and strode away as if she was not worth the effort and time. 

"Leave, Morghue. We were never in healthy fellowship, and I do not desire to continue speaking with you," she said over her shoulder. 

Morghue laughed. "I did not come here to offer friendship. I simply came to see how you were getting along, and to make you aware that I now wonder the same lands as you. It'll be just like in times before, Nafeatir." 

"I said leave! I grow tired of your face!" 

"Very well," Morghue smiled. She resumed her previous size and departed from the presence of her old acquaintance. Leaving the dark elf to think about what she would expect from her. 

------- 

The time it took them to discover the others had been worth it. Not only had Aragorn and Valain found a large amount of men, but also Gandalf was among them. He sat around a small fire with the most annoyed look on his face as he shook his pipe at one of the fairiës. Aragorn had to grin. 

He didn't hesitate to make himself known. 

"Gandalf!" he exclaimed he said coming into their view. 

Gandalf stood and stared in silence for a moment. "Aragorn? Could it be?" 

"Of course. And I too am surprised to see that you also do live." 

Shouts of 'Aragorn' soon began to circulate when the men saw who it was that the wizard spoke to. 

"Silence, fools. It is bad enough that you insist we start this fire to fill your bellies, now you must vocalize your wish to be found. Again I say, quiet!" Aragorn saw that the last few days have been trying on the old wizard. More so than anything else he had encountered judging by the extra cresses in his wizened face. 

"Come Aragorn there is much to talk about," Gandalf said while motioning for him to join him by the fire. 

"How many are with us, my old friend?" 

Gandalf's eyes shot up to glance quickly at all the men, who sat eating or sleeping. 

"About thirty here, there were more, but I sent them away to look for others. I hope they didn't get lost." 

Aragorn looked thoroughly over the faces of the men. He was saddened to see that none of his loyal 'fellowship' was among them. He was encouraged by their general spirit. Many looked healthy and almost contented. There was still the worry for others in their eyes as well. 

He sat beside Gandalf. He was soon face to face with another fairië, one with a feminine face. 

"Greeting, Heir of Gondor. I am Vanora. A leader among my kind, like Valain who guided you to us." 

Valain nodded while floating over to rest on Aragorn's raised knee. 

"No doubt my fellow 'fairië', as you address us as, has already told you much of what I also have told Olórin," she motioned to Gandalf. "Now is the time to plan and unite. We apologize if we do not all hold the answer to so many questions, but we do promise to aid with all the power given to us." 

Aragorn looked to Gandalf. He could hardly see his eyes beneath the bushes of his eyebrows, yet he understood that Gandalf wasn't satisfied with the lack of answers. Aragorn himself had many queries concerning their abilities and purpose. How could they even begin to oppose Sauron when he has regained his full strength from the Ring? Could a few winged wizards truly be a great force against the evil? Yes, it was true that there were many doubts and questions, but Aragorn looked past these with the faith he had. A faith that didn't require all the answers. He knew that they would survive long enough to do what they were all meant to do. Even if it was to die for a lost cause. 

"Very well, what plans do you have in mind, fairië Vanora?" he asked. 

------- 

Frodo sat and ruminated upon what could have been done, on his friends and family, and on the sorceress. This was all he'd done for so long that minute, hours, and days didn't seem to exist anymore. The strength to do anything else had left him. He wept at times or would pace the room, but nothing more. Except when he must do something to distance himself as far from the enchantress as possible. It had been a spontaneous decision to try and run away, he would not try that again. At least not by the same route, and conditions. 

For a few almost satisfied hours he had thought on the tale that Nafeatir had told him. For a moment he had hoped she would return to tell him another. The story made him forget his own circumstances and worries. He only wished that she could tell him more, but without him having to be so close to the haunting woman. 

He could not forget the deep, empty look in her eyes those two instances. It was that look that was in his dreams when he finally was able to sleep. 

"She keeps you here against your will, doesn't she?" 

Frodo gasped and looked to where the unfamiliar voice had come from. The little floating creature that spoke a few words with Nafeatir earlier was there, regarding him kindly. 

"For her own satisfaction, and the sacrifice of your happiness is a fair price to pay. She holds you here for her own pleasure. " She drew closer to Frodo till her small body was only a foot from his face. 

"Doesn't she?" 

Frodo looked away for a moment and then put something to use that he hadn't for a long time. "Yes," he said. 

"Come with me, Elenti. You do not belong here with this dark elf. I know not how long you have been here, though I'm sure it has been unpleasant. Nafeatir is absolutely corrupted, though she may seem to show some sentiment, it is false. Evil is deceiving isn't it?" 

She paused at that question as if knowing that this statement meant something to him. And it did. So perfect and beautiful was a small ordinary ring that he had once had. Who knew what harm and destruction it would bring about? 

"Come with me, and I will return you to your friends, for that is why our kind was sent, to help." 

"My friends? Certainly they do not live and if they do, not in freedom." 

She floated over and glanced to where Nafeatir's room was. She then turned back to Frodo. 

"Many are alive and free, due to my kind aiding them. It is now my turn to help you, Elenti." 

"Frodo, my name is Frodo," he said firmly. 

"Very well, Frodo. Hurry with your decision, I must make haste before I am discovered." 

Frodo looked from the small creature to where her gaze was a second earlier, to Nafeatirs chambers. When Morghue had come before Nafeatir did seem not to favor her. Any foe of the sorceress' would be a friend to him. 

"For a few hours every day now, when the sky grows very black, that is when she leaves. It'll be clear then." 

Morghue smiled at him and bowed her head gracefully. 

"I will return for you then," with that said she rushed out the window and was soon out of sight. 

------- 

"I love you, Frodo" Nafeatir said from the doorframe. She was baffled when he didn't even tense or jump. "Frodo?" 

She entered his room, coming nearer to the hobbit. 

"I wish you would consider what I offer you. Affection and security. Have I not shown my love to you?" It was curious for him not to show even a small shred of nervousness around her. Nafeatir forgot the subject she wanted to talk on and began to worry about him. 

"My Prince Elenti? Frodo? My love?" 

He gazed up at her and whispered. "What did you call me?" 

Nafeatir almost collapsed with shock and joy. 

"Frodo, Frodo! You spoke to me!" He fell on her knees so she could look at him more clearly. "I called you my love." 

He shook his head. 

"No, the elvish word. What does it mean? You have been saying it often." 

"It means Little Star. That is what I address you as. One who may be small in a world of bright, beautiful stars, but still you fight off the dark that surrounds with what light you have. Prince Little-Star. Prince Elenti," she laughed and smiled. 

"I am no prince," he said sternly. 

"Yes, you are." She resisted the urge to touch his face. "My Prince. For I am now of high rank in the lands and you are mine. My Lord reigns so therefore we are royalty." 

"I will have no part of it. I am not yours nor am I in league with the Dark Lord." He turned away and continued his never-ending glance out the window. 

Nafeatir's smile altered into a twisted grin. 

"We will see about that, my Elenti." 

  


------- 

A/N   
The story that Nafeatir told was a combination of the Greek myth of The Moon Goddess and the shepherd boy Endymion, and Tolkien's world. I changed the spelling of Endym_io_n's name very slightly. I just switched the 'i' and 'o' in order for his name to correlate elvish.   
_Endymoin_ means _ heart that is secure or secure heart _ _   
  
  
  
_

_   
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	12. Uninvited

Uninvited  


Kenobi 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the priviledge of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

-------

Legolas brought up the rear of the small company as they journeyed to join a neighboring group. In his arms was Pippin who struggled to stay awake. He wondered when was the last time he, himself, had a moment of rest. Perhaps that was the reason he was so uneasy. 

He eyed the noisy men with annoyance. He was uncommonly nervous about this many moving in the otherwise silent darkness. He had more than once jarred his hobbit friend awake by quickly stopping and looking over his shoulder or shifting to finger his bow. 

He didn't like how everything was going so well after the doom that had befallen Middle-earth. He hadn't seen or heard any orcs or other abominable creatures of the dark one. The fact that they had all been moved to safety by the aid of these small helpers who claim to be sent from the great ones was almost too good to be true, too perfect. It was all too unnerving. He was almost anticipating the end of their good favor. Something-even something as small as a couple to orcs- was bound to happen. And if it didn't then that is what made Legolas worry. 

The rest up ahead began to speak in low voices with new welcoming ones. 

"Pippin," he shook his friend lightly. 

"Are we there?" he asked through a yawn. 

"Yes." 

He approached the camp slowly and set the hobbit down in what he hoped was a safe environment. Legolas searched the faces of the ones in this new group. He longed for another familiar face among the men of Gondor. But there was no Aragorn, no Gandalf, and no Gimli whose company he missed greatly. 

He turned in the direction where it came from. He was surprised to find a greatly injured man lying on a bloody blanket. For a moment he didn't recognize the soiled and beaten face of the man, but the fair eyes brought to him a small memory. 

"Lord Imrahil," he fell on a knee beside the great prince. Legolas was sure not to let his pity show as he saw all the damage done to his elvish face and body. 

"Tell me, has the king found us?" 

Legolas shook his head, "Nay, but it is still early," He didn't let the prince in on his doubts and earlier insecurities about the whole state of things. 

Imrahil closed his eyes. His breath was terribly audible. He would cough loudly from time to time after endless wheezes. Legolas lowered his eyes to see precisely where the formidable man was hurt so severely. The once white cloths around his torso where many and heavily stained with crimson. He couldn't make any assumption. 

"Tell me of your kingdom, for I know that you yourself are similar to me in station." 

Legolas was briefly startled by the sudden question. "Yes, I too am the son of a king, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood." 

"Mirkwood, Mirkwood..," he mumbled while shuffling through his memories. "Tis a place that holds dark meaning." 

"Unfortunately, you are correct. My people have struggled with darkness in our area-" 

Legolas was about to continue when a loud voice demanding attention interrupted his words. 

"Hear me survivors of the great battle. Another group is close, though the leaders send word not to move our company yet. They do command that any from 'the fellowship' to come with me." 

Legolas quickly said: "My apologies, we must continue our talk later." 

The man smiled with much effort at the elf. "Return soon to tell me what our king has said." 

The elf marveled at his faith in the return of the king, and scolded his own mind for now having the same. However, the absence of faith and caution are two different things. He stood. 

"I am from the fellowship, as well as this hobbit," he pointed to Pippin who was again in a discussion with the small creatures. 

"Then make haste, they are engaged in a debate that could use the voices of such diverse people." The man didn't wait for a reply. He turned and dashing into the dark from where he came. 

"Come, Pippin." 

His steps were hindered by the small hand of the hobbit on his cloak. 

"Legolas, do you think that it might be all the others?" 

The elf looked down on his friend with pity in his eyes, but he didn't answer. 

------- 

"We are close, very close, my lady." 

Arwen opened her eyes from a short rest and focused on Manëdur . He sat a foot away on a rock and appeared to have been watching her for a while. She looked into his perfectly shaped eyes, and a brief shiver went through her. She couldn't help but feel that there was something he was silently trying to tell her. She had been traveling with Manëdur for some time now and still she felt uncomfortable around him. Especially when he stared at her, even when she gazed back, he would not look away. Arwen concluded before that it must be some attribute of his race, though if it was then it was a disturbing one. 

"Yes, of course," she replied and slowly began to get to her feet. Leaning over, she retrieved the few berries left from her last meal, and stored them in a small pouch. 

"How feel you today, lady Arwen?" he asked as soon as they began again in a direction. 

Arwen wondered if it was actually a different day. So far she was not able to discern day from night. "If it is another day then I can say that I feel like I've always had, except I am now a little more rested." 

"Do you dream when you rest?" 

"As of late, I am void of any dreams." 

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "I dream. I see you in my dreams most often, lady Arwen. Always in my dreams." 

Arwen was sure that he never slept in any form of the meaning. He was always alert and thoughtful when she was awake. 

He would say such phrases often. They were small seemingly meaningless sentences, never ceasing to be somewhat mysterious in their content. She was grateful for his company, but there was the growing feeling inside of her that something wasn't right. 

She pushed the suspicion from her mind as she had a couple times before and focused on where they were. But there too, was something that baffled her. It was always dark, but Arwen could tell that there was something odd about her surroundings. Had she traveled on foot through this area before? That bend and that tree were hauntingly familiar. The sounds even the smells spoke of the past, the recent past. There was not an area surrounding Rivendell that her foot had not touched, though this would hardly cause such an unnerving reaction in her. Arwen froze. The weight of it all on her mind was too much for her to ignore it any longer. She waited, clearing away other thoughts. 

Like a flash in this never-ending darkness she was able to understand the sinking feeling that was following her. 

"We're going in circles," Arwen finally concluded. "You have been leading me nowhere." 

Manëdur turned and stared at her knowingly and unapologetic. 

------- 

Frodo had begun to pace slowly across the length of his room and stare at the floor while waiting for the winged woman to return. Nafeatir had been gone for while and any methods of escape would take time. He wasn't sure of what his rescuer had in mind, but as time went on he doubted she could accomplish anything if she didn't hasten. Perhaps it was a plan his mind couldn't grasp, though certainly he could not grow wings and shrink as she. 

He sighed and sat on the corner of his bed, trying to purge his mind of worries and calm himself. He ran his hand over the soft designs on the bed. His mind turned to the woman who had given this and everything else in the room to him. Earlier he had finally said a few words to the sorceress. Her reply assured him of her black and confused heart. All he was to her was a possession, a pet, something new to amuse herself with. He had to keep reminding himself of this fact or else he would begin to feel almost grateful to her for all that she had done for him. 

"How long has she kept you here?" 

Frodo jumped at the familiar interruption. A small light soon came into his line of vision. She stopped in front of him and laughed. 

"Greetings young prince," she bowed low and smiled brightly at him. "I hope I have not kept you waiting." 

"I-I can't remember how long ago it was. It feels like an eternity, yet it feels like only yesterday I was home," Frodo replied to her previous question. He blinked and looked away from the small being. "Why does she keep me here? I don't understand. I-." He stopped thinking he was just babbling aloud his thoughts. If he was simply some pet to her then he wasn't a very satisfying one. How long till she grows tried of his constant resisting, and she does away with him in some way? 

"Nafeatir has always been confusing. I do not wish to see you be with her any longer. She is a deceiver and a betrayer. Come, follow me." 

She swiftly flew into Nafeatir's room before Frodo had a chance to even get up. He sighed and was about to get up when something stopped him. Something was warning him to be wary. Frodo looked around his room for any sign of an enemy or of Nafeatir, but there was none. He shook his head, and entered the room to find that she had changed into her human-sized form. She stood inspecting the art and other articles on the walls. 

"Tell me, what are you called? And what precisely are you, if you don't mind me asking?" Frodo asked. 

There was a long pause that made him nervous. All the sudden something had changed in the air between him and his mysterious rescuer. 

"I am Morghue, a leader among my kind, a Queen. I have many who are gathering beneath me. I knew your mistress when all was different, when Melkor was still the Dark Lord, and when his voice planted small seeds of freedom in many." 

She paused and approached a wall where there were several blades arranged in a pattern. She brushed her long fingers across their smooth sides. 

"The words of Melkor affected those who heard in various ways. Some rebelled against each other, while others took it in and had it fester within themselves in silence. Those who rebelled against the great ones left for this land while the higher ones were left, doomed to be bodiless and quiet in their revelations. There were some of the bodiless who returned to their old way of thinking, finding some favor with the Highest Lords and Ladies, and then there were some who waited...till now." 

She turned to face him. 

"The mindless ones are helping your allies, but the ones who tasted the freedom Melkor had boasted are also wandering the lands and they care not for the children of Iluvatar, nor for the servants of Sauron who left us also." 

Frodo stared with curiosity at the female called Morghue as she spoke of happenings very foreign to him. History that was long before any history he had studied. The path behind the elves he knew very little of, though he was able to grasp the basic concept of what she was saying. He guessed that this 'freedom' was probably discord and rebellion. He'd seen the creeping ways of evil. He knew of its small and quiet at first. Whoever were these 'bodiless' ones, they must have suffered by turning their ears to the dark one. 

"I knew Nafeatir well. She left with the others of the first born. We never had love for each other before her departure. Nothing has changed." 

A moment passed before something happened. She lunged at him without a warning, her long nails aimed at his face. Frodo was able to avert her only slightly. The pain on the side of cheek told him that she had nipped him. He didn't move quickly enough, nor did he distance himself adequately. She slammed his body back against the wall behind him. He felt her calm breath against his cold cheek. Her eyes looked down on him indifferently. 

"And I hated her kind, her master, her fortune. Although how fortunate for me to be blessed with this body now." 

Frodo was weak from his lack of mobility and proper nutrition, but he would not let her get the best of him. He shoved back on her, allowing him sufficient space to scramble away. 

"You said you would help me? If you are her enemy then why do you attack one who is also her enemy?" 

She laughed as she slowly made her way closer and closer to him. 

"Because she never had any great weaknesses." 

Frodo quickly dashed for the wall with the many weapons and plucked off a spear. From the increase in her laughter he must've looked as silly as he felt. 

"Oh, yes, the great Nafeatir never had a weakness," she stopped inches away from the weapon he pointed in her direction. "Till now." 

An instant later she was simply gone from sight. Frodo's mind blinked for a second only before he began swinging the spear around his area. A scream came from his left where he had just swung the tip. He looked over just in time to see her hand dangerously close to his face. She struck him hard, her nails digging across his face before the blow knocked him on the ground. He was surprised at her strength, she looked thin, almost wiry. 

"Quite admirable," she muttered while she inspected the gash on her upper arm. 

Frodo didn't wait to see what else she would do. He tried to stand, but slipped. He heard her approaching so he aimlessly scrambled back away from her footsteps. 

"Oh, come, come now little prince, will you not continue the fight? I find it most entertaining." Morghue reached down and gripped the front of his tunic. She lifted him somewhat before tossing him through the doors that lead to Nafeatir's balcony. Frodo cried out in pain at the impact with the doors (doors that were locked before Morghue used him as a battering ram) and with the stone balcony. He curled up into a fetal position, his hand trying to feel the damage done to his back. He felt heat and blood. 

For a moment Frodo wondered why he even tried to struggle with the female. This is what he longed for. He longed for a way out. Perhaps it was the unusual direction this was all taking. He was merely being used as a tool of vengeance or something like it-ancient competition maybe? 

Frodo's thoughts were interrupted when she seized him again. She gathered his wrists in one hand as she pushed him downward. She straddled his stomach, pressing her weight against him to cease the small fight in him. 

"Too quick to trust, little male. I suppose that is what she finds intriguing about you. Not only do you look naive and stainless, but you really are," she paused and stared at his face. Frodo could do nothing but look back at her unreadable eyes. 

"Perhaps I should bind you and have you gradually bleed to death. Your blood staining your mistress' chambers. Or I could toss you off the edge having her look for you fruitlessly for hours till finally she finds your shattered body on the rocks below," she paused to almost gently caress his face with her fingers. "No, I believe, I'll divide you into several pieces. The witch will have to search her chambers to find all the parts. But first," she halted her talk of death to lean closer to his face. She softly touched her lips to the four open wounds on his face. She kissed the blood covering his cheek, and tasted it on her tongue. "First I'll explore the reasons why she is fascinated by you." 

------- 

Nafeatir exited her master's chambers, his words still echoing in her mind. 

"The price of that halfling might increase.." he had said. It was almost completely off the subject. They were discussing way for him to experience having physical shape again. Then in the midst of this he warned her about a new cost. Would he take Frodo away from her anyway? He had the ring after all, he didn't need to keep her happy. Sauron didn't need her. 

"But I need him," she said referring to Frodo. She hastened her steps to her chambers where her hobbit was. The possibility of losing him causing her to ache for him more. 

She wondered how high Sauron would raise the price. How much higher can it be after the first one was the very ring of power? 

She hugged the small chest in her arms closer to herself. Within it were a few more personal gifts she intended to give to Frodo. She smiled at the improvement he was making. He had spoken to her after so many days of silence. Before that he had allowed her to tell him a tale while holding him (after overcoming him a little). She hoped that the familiarity of one of the presents inside would also get a satisfactory reaction out of the passive hobbit. 

By the time she was before the door to her room she could feel that something was not right within. Her pleasant thoughts of Frodo were quickly transformed to worry and horror. Through the doors she could easily hear sounds of movement or struggle. 

Nafeatir dropped the box in her hands and threw open the door. She saw the evidence of a fight; an abandoned spear, and a few droplets of blood. She drew her dagger as she entered. Nafeatir then saw the balcony doors wide open. 

------- 

"You don't deny it?" Arwen asked. 

Manëdur didn't answer he simply stared at her. Arwen was about to demand that he speak when he began to glow more intensly. The light grew and grew till he had again transformed into the normal size of an elf. He then seized her hand and fell on one knee. 

"I cannot bear to see your beauty fade. Why waste your immortality of yours on a simple man? Come with me, Beloved Arwen, for I share in your gift of eternity, and I adore you dearly." 

Before he could continue she withdrew her hand from his grasp and stepped back. "How dare you speak of my betrothed in such a manner. Have you any royal heritage? Do you have a task set out before you from your ancestors, a task that will ultimately lead to a kingdom? No, I say you have none of these, and least of all you do not have my heart. Only one man has that." 

"I am of a noble race, my lady. Sent from those across the sea. I share your immort-" 

"You know this, but little more do you know of your own existance." Arwen had noticed from the beginning that he would never pursue a talk about his origin with ease. 

Silence fell between them. He appeared to be holding on to some hope as he searched her face for any return of his feelings. 

"Very well," he said at long last, "then you refuse my affections. You assume that I am but a lowly servant, but you are mistaken. If you believe that I am not worthy to touch you then no one is," with that his face made such a dramatic shift that Arwen gasped. It went from desperate, perhaps sincere, proclamation of love to determined anger. The glow around him returned and multiplied within seconds. Arwen turned her head away to shield her eyes from the intensity of the brightness. She heard his voice cry out or yell unknown words, for a few more lingering seconds before she was thrown to the ground by something, and then she knew no more but blackness. 

  


------- 

A/N   
This has got to be the most difficult chapter that I have written, and I really have no clue why. I apologize for the wait. As I have said before I was away with no access to a computer, and when I finally got home I came home to_ this_ chapter..Hopefully my future additions won't be so troublesome for me. I again apologize for all the inconvenience. _  
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	13. The Way I Feel

The Way I Feel  


Kenobi 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

------- 

When Legolas and Pippin emerged from the darkness of the forest and into the firelight they were welcomed by a very familiar face. 

"Legolas! Pippin!" came the voice of Aragorn. "I am overjoyed to see that my command was fruitful." 

Aragorn approached them. He embraced the elf and bent down to greet Pippin. 

"Why, Master Pippin, it seems you have fought with a passion during the battle," he pointed to the many bandages and bruises on his body. 

"If you consider being buried under the bodies of orcs is passion then I suppose so," Pippin laughed. 

"It gladdens my heart to no end to see you, Aragorn, our hope, living," Legolas said when he stood. 

"And likewise my friends. Come there is much to discuss, and there is one other who will increase the hope in your hearts." 

He motioned to Gandalf who sat quietly puffing on his pipe. From under his bushy brows his eyes were shut in deep thought. Aragorn returned to his place beside the wizard. Legolas and the hobbit joined them. There was a silence that was finally broken when Gandalf drew in a long breath and opened his eyes. 

"Ah, Legolas, I am relieved to see you," he leaned forward to get a better look at the halfling sitting next to him. "And Pippin. I assume that you two also have small guardians who delivered you from danger," he said nodding to the two floating around Pippin. 

"Oh yes! This one, she's mine, is perfectly satisfied with a proper hobbit-name - Tanta. Legolas' consented to being addressed as Golradir," Pippin offered with enthusiasm. 

"Hopefully, they're not as tiresome as the one that follows me around relentlessly. If you'll excuse me, I'm putting an end to what's going on over there. I trust Aragorn to tell you all that we have most recently discovered," with that he stood up and almost painfully made his way over to where two lights were hovering not far away. 

They didn't speak for a short period. Legolas glanced at Aragorn as he stared at Gandalf who was conversing with the lights. 

"They have been conversing for hours now," he pointed to the two lights. "Our 'fairiës' as I call them. Tell me, have you noticed anything peculiar about your own?" 

Legolas looked over at Golradir as he settled down on the grass not far from the fire. 

"Just that he doesn't know much or that he can't remember much." 

"That's just it. These 'helpers' are almost entirely ignorant, all except for the leaders. The one that I have is a leader as well as Gandalf's. Although it turns out that even they cannot recall much. They went aside trying to confer with one another so they can remember something they think is very important." 

"Do they have a lead on what it is?" 

"When we tried to get the reason why they hadn't been sent earlier in any time in history is when they started to lose confidence in their mind. I have a feeling that the great ones across the sea had a very good reason why they didn't send them before. I only wish I knew what it was, but till we find it out I don't want you or anyone else to trust one of those things entirely." 

Legolas nodded. 

------- 

Nafeatir took a step closer to the balcony. From there she could make out the unusual winged appendages of Morghue. Grappling beneath her was Nafeatir's hobbit. In an instant the sorceress had pulled back her dagger and let if fly. 

A terrified scream came from Morghue as her left wing was severed off. She looked back at Nafeatir with vengeance in her eyes. 

"You!" she yelled. A moment passed for her adversary to gain her composure. "I could kill him right now, Nafeatir." 

The enraged sorceress watched as she gingerly placed her hand on Frodo's horrified face. She slowly moved it down to his neck where she kept it. 

"Get your foul hands off of him!" 

"Come any closer, and I'll finish the job I came here to do," she wrung her hand around his throat roughly. 

The enchantress wasn't about to stand there while he was wounded and bleeding. She let a second pass before her hand shot out and gripped Morghue by the hair and the other wing. She tossed her a safe distance away from Frodo, close to the edge of the balcony. Unfortunately not before she had caused Morghue to scrap her nails across the flesh of Frodo's neck. She heard him moan. 

"Frodo?!" He was still breathing. 

"Elenti, go in my chambers," Nafeatir commanded as she pulled her sword out of its scabbard. She noted how sluggishly he followed her order, and the blood that painted his back. 

Morghue lifted her head and screamed at her. It was a twisted, abnormal sound climbing out of the pit of herself and echoing in the air around them. Morghue then disappeared in a flash of white light. She shielded her eyes from the light. 

Nafeatir stared at the area that Morghue had occupied. She knew that her old foe was capable of more than just scaring her. She could only guess what other things she might try in order to add more grief and conflict in her life. And with Frodo with her, it would be easier to make her suffer. 

"Frodo!" Nafeatir turned around and dashed to his side as he sat hugging his knees. "Frodo?" she asked while lightly touching his shoulder. Frodo recoiled from her attempt to comfort him. 

"Don't touch me!" 

"Frodo, please, you are hurt. I must tend to your wounds." He didn't respond. "How many times must I protect your existence?" Nafeatir asked with a hint of humor in her voice. When she saw that nothing was helping the situation, she proceeded to be forceful. "I must see the damage done, my love." 

She grabbed his arm, and pulled him to herself. He fought back meagerly, though eventually letting her have her way. She lifted the back of his shirt up. She muttered some foreign curse at the sight of his bruised and battered back. 

"How could I have been so foolish, I should have known that she would've tried something like this." 

Nafeatir looked around at his face, and gripped his chin. She ran her finger across the long gashes on his cheek. Moving his head to the side she saw small bite marks on his collarbone. Her lips tightened in anger, and her grip on him increased. She felt her anger increase like a fire within herself. 

Frodo's eyes widened at her reaction. He futilely tried to free himself from her. Seeing her own red glow reflecting off his face from her eyes, she choked down her frustrations, attempting to calm herself. 

"Frodo," she said, her voice as soothing as she could manage. "Elenti, forgive me-" she stopped. She was only wasting time. He needed to be cleaned up and tended to. She sat in silence beside him for a moment till his breath lessened in intensity. She took his hand and wrapped her arm around him to support him to the bed where she would heal the hurts done to him. 

------- 

Aragorn looked out on those whom he had the attention of. After a few days of gathering quietly, and various discussions, their 'resistance' was beginning to take shape. 

He had unanimously been appointed their leader for the darker days ahead. Gandalf would be there always to advise him, but would never assume a position of leadership. Those members he had with him from the original Fellowship he always kept close. He had developed a deep devotion and friendship with the eight others who ventured to be rid of the Ring. Out of the nine he was certain that only four still lived. Meriadoc, and Gimli were among those unaccounted for. Boromir had fought nobly to the end, and Frodo and Sam he was almost certain were not living. Aragorn was thankful for the voice of elf wisdom provided by Legolas. Even Pippin helped in a small way to spur him on in the new task set out before him. 

He open his mouth to address the multitude, for now that is what it had become. He was still hesitate to trust the helpers fully, yet they did not hesitate to do what they said they would. Around the few hundred gathered, the fairiës worked together their individual abilities to form a girdle of safety for them. They would not be seen nor heard for many hours under their protection. 

"Friends, I do not pretend to come before you with assurances of ultimate victory or the promise of the restoration of all the have fought for. I know not why this miracle has come to pass, or why the great ones had mercy on us. I only know that we must endure these hard times that are before us. But do not despair, I beg you to always hold on. The darkness will try and end us, but good will not fail. Even in death, what we now strive for will go on. So I ask that you set aside bitter emotions and hopelessness. And take up the sword of righteousness to overcome this wave of evil!" 

As soon as he was finished, a cry of triumph came from all those gathered. Shouts of 'Aragorn' and other proclamations of their cause broken through the emptiness of the shadows, and a glimpse of light could almost be seen in their midst. After their voices died down, he went on. 

" I intend to organize our numbers into smaller groups with their own tasks set before them. With Gandalfs wisdom, and the strength of the fairiës' to guide us, we will not leave this realm without a fight!" 

Again their voice rose above the night, and if it were not for the girdle of the fairiës, the Dark Lord himself would have heard their sounds of rebellion against his rule. 

------- 

Legolas searched through all the men who were wondering about with various tasks to tend to. He was looking for the familiar face of a certain dwarf. He sighed heavily and then turned back to his present company. An area was set apart for those terribly ill and wounded. He was in their midst, watching Imrahil as he slept. He had fallen asleep to the sound of Legolas' song. He felt alone, but was glad to see the prince get some rest. They had conversed for a while. They spoke of their own homelands, the present situation, and of the small creatures. Legolas found comfort in the simple talk exchanged. Although he missed the challenging tone that Gimli would always have. 

"Master Legolas!" Golradir spoke pulling the elf out of his reverie. 

Legolas looked at him and then in the direction he was pointing at. A foreign group of men and elves were approaching. He stood and went out to greet them. 

"Hoy!" cried one man who was leading the others. 

"Greetings good people, from whence do you come?" 

As they came closer, he could see that the men in the group were rangers. The elves appeared to have come from Rivendell according to the way they were dressed. He was disheartened to not find any dwarves with them. 

"I am Taron, and these are my companions. These fair folk are the only survivors from an attack on Rivendell." 

Legolas stopped his stride at the words. Of course this would happen, he thought. He had warned himself not to become too content in their present state. Legolas searched the faces of the elves, finding no more than twenty or so in the gathering. 

"Come, you must speak with Lord Aragorn of this matter." 

------- 

Aragorn had quickly taken over the task of seeking out the mysterious woman that the new company had spoke of. The man had pointed them in the direction, but it was Aragorn who followed the signs in the darkness so diligently. 

When he heard that Rivendell was the first major victim of Sauron's rule, and that only those who were present were the survivors his heart nearly stopped beating. He could almost feel the blood in his vein still and thicken at the thought that his beloved Arwen no longer roamed this realm. The second of doubt did not linger. The blind hope in his heart would not accept that she had died. His hopes then spring into words. The words of his fellow ranger who said that a maiden had lead them this far instead of one of the fairiës. He had briefly spoken to one of the survivors from the House of Elrond who had confirmed that the maiden was elvish, and that he even thought that it was Arwen, the lady of Rivendell. He was not certain because oddly enough the woman would always keep her distance and speak very little. 

Aragorn was certain. She would not be stolen from him without a fight. She would not be taken from him while he was idle elsewhere. She was close now. 

"Aragorn," he heard Legolas call from a little to the left. Aragorn met his gaze, and then to where he pointed to. There was a sound not far in that direction. But before he could even move, the maiden's voice spoke from the shadows. 

"Aragorn?" It was she, but she sounded uncertain and somewhat frightened. 

"Arwen," he called, searching the darkness where her voice had come from. Though the footsteps of elves are very faint, he could hear her before he saw her beautiful face. He wanted so much just to run to her and wrap his arms around her so she would never come to harm, but there was something in her expression that kept him where he was. 

"I never doubted that you would survive, my dearest," she spoke, losing all the uncertainty that was before. 

"Arwen, what ails you?" she did not answer. "Come, join us at camp. Hope has sprung from the ashes of our attempt of salvation," Aragorn could find nothing else to say. 

"Not all are good," she replied her expression revealing nothing. He knew she spoke of the fairiës. 

"What do you mean?" 

She looked down at her arm sorrowfully. She slowly extended it out to him. 

"Touch me." 

He stepped forward hesitantly, and confused. He lifted his hand to place it on her snow-white skin, but it was not so. His hand went right through hers as if she did not exist. He gasped in horror and disbelief. 

"No, tell me it isn't so! You must live!" 

"I live though not in the manner which I should. I am doomed to be out of reach from everyone, and condemned to walk the same paths that I have, always just behind your camp, never entering." 

Aragorn shook his head in denial and frustration. 

"How could this come to pass? Who did this to you?" 

She pointed to his own fairië which floated behind Aragorn. 

"They who were sent from the Valar." 

Aragorn turned to look at Valain with betrayal in his eyes. The fairië's own face told of realization, and sorrow. Before Aragorn could question him, he spoke. 

"That is what had escaped our minds. It has all come back to me. The reason why the great ones were hesitant to send us. No doubt that your lady had encountered one of us, but not all of us are entirely cleansed of the evil that was planted within us so long ago. The lesser of my folk are highly impressionable once released in this new world. The evil that surrounds us possibly triggered the darkness in some hearts." 

"Can you be trusted now, my friend?" Aragorn asked. "Does the darkness lurk in your heart?" 

"To be sure, it once did, but not all of us are the same. Do not judge us all for the sins of one." 

"I do not judge, I am simply seeking what is best for all those who follow me," he turned his attention back to Arwen. 

"Tell me there is a way to rid you of this curse." 

She looked away from him. Her eyes distant and unreadable. 

"I do not know." 

------- 

Frodo shifted beneath the mounds of covers he lay under. It had been a couple of days (he guessed ) since that flying creature had attacked him. Ever since there had not been one moment when he was free from Nafeatir's gaze. Even as he slept, or as he tried to sleep, he knew that she was standing not far watching him. 

He rested then in her bed. She had insisted that he get a little slumber, and then directed him over to her sleeping area. He didn't object. In fact he hadn't objected to one thing since he'd been assaulted. He'd seen something in her face after she looked him over that had frightened him terribly. Nafeatir had scared him before with a similar mood, but she had not shaken the possessiveness much. Frodo could see it in her eyes. The struggle inside herself concerning him. It was frightening to watch, always guessing what the precise subject is being debated or how it was going to end. He'd seen it where she would gaze at him with such contentment, her eyes almost human. Suddenly a thought would invade her mind, her eyes would darken, and she would gaze at him with a terrible passion. 

Frodo moved again in an effort to get comfortable. Frustrated he sat up and pushed the covers off of him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her look up from a scroll she was inspecting. 

"What's wrong, Elenti?" 

"I can not sleep any more." 

She made her way over to the bed and sat close to him. 

"Let me see those nasty scratches. They should be completely healed by now, and with no scar to mar, my love's skin." 

Nafeatir reached over and took hold of the bandage on his collarbone. She gently untied it and pulled it away. Taking his chin between her fingers, she turned his face to the side to inspect where the wounds were once. 

"That is the face that I remember. Smooth," her thumb lingered on his face, stroking his completely healed cheek. He jerked his face to the side, out of her reach. 

"I've kept you here for too long, let me guide you through my other chambers," she said at long last. She stood and held out her hand to him. He looked up at her for a moment, looking into her dreadful eyes. He did not trust her. She had saved his life multiple times, but only because the twisted maiden felt that she owned him. And she did not. 

He looked away and slowly stood up, ignoring her hand. He would keep his distance from her as far as he dared without angering her. 

He was certain that her mind was contemplating or rather wrestling with something. It was the silent moments like these that frightened him. 

"There are many rooms that you have the freedom to roam, Frodo, that is if you do not try to run away again," she said as she began moving to his room. He followed a few steps behind her. She entered his room and went all the way to the far wall. Frodo was surprised to see her lift a tapestry, and tug at it firmly to tear it down. Beneath it was a door. She looked to him. 

"Now if you had not spent so much time staring out at the lovely Mordor landscape you probably would have discovered this, but you would not have gotten through," she pulled a key from her robes and proceeded to unlock the door. She went in the unknown room. 

"Come," she beaconed when he did not move. "I assure you that what is in here will interest you greatly." 

Curiosity overcame his uncertainty, and he joined her in the room. He looked around to find another large room, mostly hidden by shadows. She lead him over to the nearest wall. He could make out shelves, hundreds of beautifully craved shelves with so many books and papers on them that his breath was momentarily taken away. 

She brushed her fingers across a pile of well-worn papers. 

"If you cannot surmise from this room, my passion is for knowledge. I have gone through almost all of these, and have come out unsated so I locked it. But now I give them all to you. This room is yours, you are free to come in at any time and study if that is your wish." 

Frodo stood beside her. He gently brought out one book. The cover was dusty and eaten away by time, but it still held a beauty. The language was foreign even to him, but that would not last long. 

He looked up from the book, and smiled at her briefly. Before he returned his gaze to the book, he caught an unfamiliar look cross her face. Perhaps it was surprise. He wasn't sure. 

"I have much more to show, this way," she started off in one direction. Frodo took a couple of steps and stopped. Frodo meant to follow, yet something held him back. In the corner of the room on the wall was a huge portrait of some sort beneath the shadows. He broke away from Nafeatir to gaze at it more closely. He'd never seen anything quite like it. It was a painting of an elf maiden. Although the word 'painting' was an understatement to him. The colors were so slight, yet precise that he failed to see how the artist managed it. It looked as if someone had merely breathed colors on the canvas creating something so softly beautiful that it was breathtaking. The elf woman appeared to be a queen, for she was not unlike the Lady of the Golden Wood. 

"She was my mother." 

Frodo looked back to see the sorceress regarding the portrait indifferently. 

"Do not be fooled by her appearance. She was a lying, and devious creature. Come, I cannot tolerate it any longer," she forcefully grabbed his hand and held it tight. She lead him away from the portrait and down the hallway. He caught many more portraits hanging, and regretted that he was unable to stop and inspect them. Perhaps they were other members of her family? Companions maybe? The thought of her having these kinds of relations opened up a whole new view on the sorceress. 

Companion and family brought up a question that had been burning on his mind since he was dragged into Barad-dur. 

"May I be so bold as to ask a question?" he asked. 

"Of course," she spoke softly. 

"The other hobbit, did you ever see him? Do you know what happened to him?" 

"Other hobbit?" 

"Yes, he was my companion." 

When she didn't reply for a few minutes, he glanced over at her. She appeared to be contemplating his question. 

"I do recall seeing another about your normal hobbit size. I let him go." 

He wanted to pursue the subject, but decided against it. The way she spoke her last sentence reminded him of the reasons he didn't trust her. Although worry and guilt concerning Sam was eating him alive. Not a moment went by when he didn't think of his dear friend. He hoped that the sorceress was tellling the truth, and that she did allow him to escape. Frodo also hoped he had enough Hobbit-sense to leave Mordor, and perhaps make it back to the Shire. 

The room with all the volumes of knowledge and the paintings soon came to an end at the sight of another large door. This one was not locked, and they easily passed through it. It lead to the familiar halls that Frodo had once ran through in an effort to escape. 

"You are free to walk these halls without fear of my servants being suspicious if you bear some symbol that I will provide for you." 

"Thank you," he said politely. 

"Tell me, Elenti, how did such a task like the one you had, come to be your responsibility?" 

Frodo didn't like to engage in too much conversation with the sorceress. He disliked discussing anything having to do with the ring even more. Too many regrets rushed to his mind. 

"I volunteered to bring it here to Mordor." 

She laughed in amusement although Frodo failed to see the humor in his statement. 

"So they just let you, and the other hobbit take the greatest weapon right into Saurons hands?" 

"This is not how we wanted it to end," he replied quietly. 

"Forgive me, Frodo," she said with a smile still on her lips. She turned into another room. It was wide and without the cramped feeling her personal quarters gave off. On the walls were even more weapons than the ones in her room. 

"In here I hope to teach you some basic self defense if you will let me. I do not want my halfling to be harmed again like what happened a few days ago if it so happens that I am not around to protect you." 

Frodo didn't even respond. He saw no need to. She was obviously commanding him to learn how to use a weapon properly. So that he can preserve himself in order for the sorceress to stay happy. That is really what she was saying to him. 

She seemed satisfied and left, pulling him along with her. She guided him through a couple other rooms in this wing of her towers. One appeared to be a ballroom, the other left him baffled on its purpose. Although he was able to conclude that nowhere in her towers could there be something that could be described as 'small'. Eventually she lead him back through the ample corridors to her personal chamber. He excused himself from her presence, retreating into his room. 

However, he was not allowed a moment of solitude. Nafeatir soon appeared in his doorway. 

"I have forgotten something, come," she commanded. "I have a few special gifts to give you." 

Frodo wondered when she didn't have something for him. He followed her into her chamber, but remained in the doorway as she went to a small chest on the bed. She opened it and pulled out a bright silver coat of mail. 

"It's mithrial, your own. I have recovered it for you." 

Frodo approached out of curiosity. It did resemble the one his uncle had given to him when the quest began. Although this one appeared to be bigger then the one before. It might even fit him now in his altered state. 

"Surely not, for my own was much smaller." 

"It can fit you perfectly now according to the alterations I've had performed. Lord Sauron loves mithrail so I had some to spare," she lifted it up so he could see all of it. "Try it on." 

He hesitated, remembering who it was standing before him. The moment had gone from amazement to awkwardness. 

"Well, come now," she said tossing the mail on her shoulder and beginning to undo his shirt for him. He stepped back away from her reach suddenly. She eyed him with an annoyed look on her face when he continued not to follow her command. So he timidly shed his top robe and tunic. Reaching over he tried to take the mithrial coat from her, but she instead moved closer to him, dodged his hand, and dressed him in it herself. 

"You are truly an elf prince, for upon your breast is the worth of many kingdoms and everything in them," she spun him around so he could look at himself. She laughed lightly at his uncertain expression. 

"Now this," she said while reaching back into the chest. She came up with a thin, silver circlet. 

"This is one of my symbols. I will allow you to wear it outside these rooms when you have my permission. You will be safe from harm when you have it on. When you are not wearing it, it will be in my keeping." Gently she set it on his curly head. So thin was the metal that only when the light touched his temple could the string of silver be seen from the gleam it reflected back. Where it rested on his forehead, the silver thickened into a starlike shape with a white gem in its midst. 

Frodo stared at the strange reflection, at this decorated farm hobbit. He would have laughed if times were lighter. 

"Oh, Frodo, you are so beautiful," her voice came, reminding him that he was not alone. She reached her hand over and gingerly ran her thin fingers through parts of his hair. Her fingers snaked their way from his head to his cheek where she stroked his skin tenderly. Frodo tensed, not entirely sure what to do. She firmly took hold of his chin and made him look at her. She moved her face and lightly kissed his cheek. Frodo was sure she was going to try elsewhere. Frodo turned his head away before she had a chance. 

------- 

Nafeatir attempted to control herself as Frodo tore himself out of her reach. She watched as he sighed heavily and strolled slowly toward a small window in the stone walls, turning his back on her. 

At first Nafeatir didn't know whether to be worried about his reaction or angered. She chose the latter. 

"Why do you repeatedly reject me? Do you not return my affections? For is seems apparent when I try to show my love," she said failing to control the temper in her tone. 

Frodo stopped, his gaze not falling on the scarred landscapes, but rather in the deep confines of memories. 

"Show your love? Do you love me?" he asked steadily while wrapping his arms around himself. 

"Yes, more than anything. Though you seem to not know the meaning when I say the words! And when I try to present it before you, you recoil," she replied. There was silence. She was sure she had him there. He was a simple hobbit with less then sixty years behind his name while she, Nafeatir, had much time and wisdom behind her. 

"Perhaps our definitions are contrary," he finally said. 

"Then allow me to educate you, my love," she said calmly. "I have seen it played out before though I must admit, until now, I never fully understood it all," she paused, momentarily trying to find a way to express in words what she was feeling. "It is something that seizes you that is beyond your control. As it increases, you don't give thought to everyone and everything else around you. All you want is the other persons' touch and presence," she was surprised at the words that she was saying. "This and more is what I have felt about you." 

Frodo turned to look at her. His eyes held no amazement at her speech. He looked only disheartened by it. 

"I do not know that it is possible for me to return your feelings, because I'm not certain what you feel..," he trailed off and turned away again. There was a small quiet. 

"I can recall when I was just a child, my father simplifying things for me. He had a gift of explaining things so a small hobbit-child like myself could understand. He was a very wise and level-headed hobbit. One particular time I had asked how he and my mother had met. He preceded to tell me how they knew each other for a very long time, simply friends. When their friendship bloomed into affection there were a few problems. Their two families were at the time not on good terms with each other. I can remember my father telling me that at that point he had to make a choice. He could peruse my mother with recklessness without giving any thought to what others might think to do, or he could protect my mother's heart. You see my mother was close to her family members and she was quite young and sensitive," Frodo ceased seemingly searching for the right words. "The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her even if it meant giving up what he wanted most which was just being with her," Frodo turned. He looked straight into her eyes, the eyes she knew gave him eerie chills. "That's real love. It isn't selfish. It is giving up what you want to meet the needs of the other. Do you only love the way I make you feel, and not truly me? " 

"Frodo, I love you," She insisted, "you, and you alone-" she ended abruptly not too sure what else to say. 

"You do not know what love is," he replied barely above a whisper and somewhat timidly. He then left her presence leaving her to think on his words. 

  


------- 

  
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	14. Haunted

Haunted  


Kenobi 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

------- 

Frodo opened his eyes or he thought he had. He felt the sensation of the muscles moving. However, the darkness behind his lids remained. He blinked and still no shred of light came to comfort. He stretched only to discover that he was somewhat immobilized. He then realized how cold he was - dreadfully cold. His lack of sight temporarily allowed him to take notice of other senses. He was surrounded in darkness, chilled, and unable to move, but what he lay upon was the most curious. It was hard and perhaps the cause for his shivers because it was frigid indeed. 

He twisted enough to the side to partially lie on his side. Suddenly through the eternal black around him there was new light. Light that radiated from a great amount of candles all standing tall on thin holders. 

The light did not help him in discerning what his circumstances were. His confusion doubled with the unveiling of his surroundings. Where was he? Why was he here when he should have been in the Sorceress' chambers? 

The candles revealed the puzzle of what he lay on. The hard slab was gold in color. He leaned over the side to try and make out exactly what it was. The sides were skillfully and beautifully crafted, yet what it depicted was horrifying. Four beasts with bared teeth stuck out from the sides. Beneath them were frightened, fair beings looking up at their brazen attackers with great fear. 

Frodo then knew what it was, when he saw that the platform he lay on stood about three feet from the floor. It was some kind of altar. 

As soon as he made the connection, he looked down at his feet to see that his ankles were firmly bound in chains and to a provided loop in the altar. His hands were tied, but thankfully no to the cursed object. 

He started to sit up to find some way to free himself when he saw her beside him, towering over him - the Dark Sorceress Nafeatir. For a moment he was relieved, for surely she would release him. He paused half raised and looked at her. Her eyes were glowing red, but she smiled sweetly. She gracefully raised her hand and cupped his face in her long fingers. She caressed his cheek slowly with her thumb and continued to stare into his eyes. 

She would get him out of the mysterious place, wouldn't she? 

She removed her hand slowly to where his hands were knotted together. She grasped the long chain trailing from the knots around his hands. He watched her movements, trusting that she would set him free. Instead she slowly pulled his hands up over his head. 

He gasped as she placed her other hand on his chest, foreign him to lie flat. He moaned and trembled, not being able to form words for the betrayal and confusion he felt. He heard something click overhead. 

He was trapped now. She had firmly secured his hands above his head. His eyes pleaded for answers, but his mouth refused to make them know intelligently. Her own eyes were glowing bright red with a hint of sickly yellow. He moaned in panic which was now prevalent. He could feel his heartbeat increasing as his chest heaved up and down dramatically in fear. 

"Shhh," she purred, placing her long finger on his lips. "Shhh, my love." 

Her image above him became hazy with the coming of unwanted moisture to his eyes. She moved her finger from his lips to catch a tear brimming at his lids. She lowered her face and slowly began caressing his trembling lips with her own. Frodo quickly noted that this was the first time she had ever kissed him. 

It was soft and tender at first, but soon it became dominating and forceful. He moaned and tried to escape her lips. She then sank her teeth into his bottom lip. Frodo cried out as much as he could against another's lips. He soon tasted his own blood in his mouth. She continued to kiss down his jawbone, and neck leaving little imprints from the blood on her lips. She stopped, and hovered over a certain area on his neck. She then bit again except wider and much harder. Frodo yelled out at the sudden pain. 

She seemed amused at this for he heard her laughter. She retreated from where she spilt more of his precious liquid and looked at him. 

"What's wrong, my love? Do you not approve of how I show my love for you?" She laughed more and straightened herself next to the altar. 

He stared disbelievingly at this woman who claimed she loved him, and saw her for what she really was - a monster. He sobbed lightly. 

She grabbed the right side of his face and neck. She roughly pushed it to the side so his left cheek was connected with the cold stone beneath him. 

He felt the blood, from where she punctured his lip, drip and puddle on the gold below. It mingled with the larger mess the holes in his neck made. He watched the puddle form and eventually travel to the edge of the altar. The river was soon enlarged by the tears rolling down his cheeks. The mixture then poured off of the side to where he couldn't see, and didn't care to. 

He heard the familiar sound of a blade being unsheathed. His eyes darted to the side to see the creature-woman lift the blade above her head. 

"Farewell, my Elenti," she said and then let the dagger plunge into his chest. 

Frodo woke screaming. He sat up abruptly in the massive bed. As a frightened animal he jerked and moved till he felt the carving of the headboard against his back. 

He drew in his breath in quick, frantic intakes. Frodo's hand then flew to where she had sunk in her dagger, then to his neck and lips. He only found sweat. He tried to calm his beating heart, but the dream was so real, so frightening. 

He heard hurried footsteps. Soon the double doors that separated his room from Nafeatir's were violently thrown open. He then saw her just as she was in the dream. 

"Frodo, What is it? What is wrong?" she asked as she rushed to the bed. 

"Stay Away!" he gasped while stumbling off of the bed and backing into a corner. 

He dared to think he saw hurt in her eyes at his behavior, but that did not last long. She drew in a deep breath and her face returned to its usual passive calmness. 

"It was only a dream, beloved. A dream," she smiled reminding him of the same deceiving gesture in the nightmare. 

"Come, I will lull you back into sleep. A sleep without haunting images." She held out her hand toward him. 

He shook his head. "No. Leave me be, please," he looked away from her to the ground. 

He didn't hear her leave, but after seemingly an eternity when he did look up, she was gone. He sighed and sank to the floor. 

He knew what had triggered such a graphic nightmare. He had indulged himself, and had been studying all the manuscripts in her library. Earlier he had discovered many documents that spoke about her. They were on papers that were somewhat torn and aged, so he could not understand a lot of it. What he did understand disturbed him so. She was a murderer, and she was cruel. She had deceived many with her fair face before her eyes were touched with such a color. 

He did not know what to think of her anymore. She would be kind and gentle to him, and then she would yell or try to touch him as one lover touches another. He knew nothing of what she did outside her chambers. She was a mystery to him. Certainly she was not innocent of evil. It still lurked in her being greatly. She just wanted something from him. Soon she would become tired of him, wouldn't she? 

He stood on shaky legs. He quickly decided that he could not get back to sleep so instead he went over to the desk she had provided for him to read and write on. 

------- 

Legolas had grown quite attached to Prince Imrahil. He had spent much of his time speaking with him when he was not advising Aragorn and Gandalf. They had been an encouragement to each other during the pressuring time. He delighted to hear the light tales the man would come up with, and Imrahil was soothed at the sound of Legolas' song. Pippin would join them most often in their talk. Both he and his small friend would charm the elf and man to no end. 

Although, Legolas was becoming increasingly worried about his friend. Many of the other sick, and wounded had passed away over the course of time. Imrahil had shown no signs of improvement since he first saw him after the great battle, and he would often fall into nasty coughing fits. 

He regretted that as of late he had been away from his new friend. Legolas had aided Aragorn in all the new tactics and methods that should be reviewed, but he knew that his part had been small compared to the full task that the man had taken. He could see the weariness in Aragorn. 

They had to split the growing company into three decent sized groups with their own goals to accomplish before rejoining them at an area that has yet to be decided. He and Aragorn were divided in this decision. Legolas was sure that at his father's house they would find supplies and allies, while Aragorn was intend on heading toward Lothlorien. Legolas was certain the in the end they would choose Lothlorien as their place of meeting. 

The first to leave their company was the small bands of three or four to disperse, and gather information. Most all the surviving elves of Rivendell were those who volunteered for the task, as well as a few of the younger more agile men. 

Legolas sighed loudly. This was just the beginning of all the planning and action yet to be taken. He was overwhelmed at the magnitude of responsibility that was now laid upon them. He was only aiding Aragorn and the situation weighed his thoughts down beyond relief. He had always admired the true King of Gondor, but now Legolas was overtaken by his strength. He really was a true ruler. 

Through the constant crowd of people he could see a small one dodging hastily through in his direction. As soon as the hurried hobbit came close enough Legolas placed a finger to his lips signaling for the halfling to approach with more caution. Pippin slowed instantly and came close so he could speak without waking the sleeping prince. 

"Aragorn wants to speak with you Legolas. He said that he might send one of the three companies out very soon." 

------- 

Nafeatir watched as Frodo leafed through a pile of papers on a desk she had provided for him. He smiled and jotted down whatever new discovery he had found. His busy pen stopped suddenly. He looked out the window beside him with grief in his eyes. How she wanted to enter into his mind and see how it worked. A mere second ago he was smiling, and then the sorrow returned. She wondered if he privately scolded himself for enjoying anything during such a time in Middle-earth. 

She was pulled from her thoughts when she noticed that he was looking at her. 

"Dear Elenti, what are you reading?" She noticed how he stiffened at the sound of her voice. Whatever he had dreamed about must have really been haunting. She knew it was about her. She feared what he saw. Was it really something she would really do, manifested in some form? 

"I am not entirely sure. I think they are ancient songs. They might be riddles." 

He had been reading and writing for days now. She felt that it was negatively affecting him somehow. He needed another change. 

"Elenti, how would you like to wander my towers unaided. If you merely wear my gift upon your brow my servants will leave you be. Come, I will allow it. You need to use your legs. Just do not be gone for too long. Do not make me worry." 

He was staring at her with slight astonishment on his face 

"I will not hinder your thoughts with my presence. Go now, before I change my decision, but do hurry back, my love." 

------- 

Frodo made certain that he noted every turn and landmark on his walk within the sorceresses vast towers. So far all he had seen had been a few lingering servants and endless corridors. He breathed in deeply and took in the simple joy of being able to get out and walk. He would have preferred tall trees with the red rays of the sunset reaching through the leaves to the enormous cold columns and statues that hide halfway in shadows. Nevertheless, he was relieved to have the time to think. Unfortunately all that rushed to his mind were the haunting images of the lifelike dream. He had almost convinced himself that Nafeatir would never harm him in such a manner. She was even kind enough to even let him wander her halls with an escort. 

He stopped his well recorded but aimless trek when a curious room stole his attention. He turned in the direction of the wide room. As he drew near, he saw that the room was entirely filled with statues. They were not quite like the ones in the corridors. These seemed more mortal than the stone gods that watched the halls, more mortal, though not more comforting. Some were terribly tall, and small, others beautiful, or horrendous. 

Curiosity compelled the hobbit to get a better look at the hardened images. He approached the first statue. It was of a mother who stood clutching her small child to her. The mother's eyes looked distressed as she gazed down at the lad clinging to her side. To Frodo's left there was a young man in tattered clothing with a sorrowful expression looking in the distance. Frodo took a couple of steps forward. Before him was a tall troll bearing down on an elf soldier, two lovers dancing together though their eyes were chipped away, and an extremely tall woman with no face. Frodo shivered at the multitude of stone people. 

From the corner of his eye he saw someone gazing at him. He quickly turned his head fully expecting to find one of Nafeatir's servants. Instead his eye's meet the eyes of the first statue he had studied. Frodo blinked in confusion while approaching it slowly. Hadn't the lifeless mother been looking at her child? Before he was close enough to touch her, he saw movement. He jerked his head to the right to see the carved arm of the young man reaching toward him. 

Frodo gasped and tumbled back into the dancing couple. He regained his balance to find that the woman no longer looked upon her partner. Instead her hollow eyes were locked with Frodo's. Frodo backed away in fear only to bump into an orc statue that he was certain was not there before. He made a mad dash for the entrance ignoring the outstretched arms and the face of the mother as it was now contorted into a scream. 

He ran out of the room and down the hall. He ran and did not stop till he was positive he had made adequate distance between him and the haunting stone faces. He leaned against a wall gasping for breath. 

When he was able to calm himself, he glanced around at his surroundings. He was almost certain that his heart had stopped when he realized that he no longer recognized the hall he was in. He looked both ways only to find that there way no sign of familiarity. Frodo wasn't even sure which was he had come from. 

"Oh no," he said aloud to no one but himself. 

------- 

Frodo traveled down numerous corridors and into many great chambers for hours it seemed. Finally he was beginning to see some columns that seemed like the ones that were common in Nafeatir's wing. 

He had seen few servants, but unfortunately all of them had been orcs. He did not want to approach one to ask for directions. 

Frodo stopped his stride to eye what he thought was the path back to Nafeatir's chambers. There was something dirty and gritty about the environment that was uncharacteristic of the sorceresses well-kept area. He passed an entryway, and glanced within. The area was swarming with sweaty orcs and greatly stank. He former hope had faded. He was convinced that he had wondered the farthest he could have from the sorceress. He shivered; he did not wish to see the wrath of the sorceress again. Frodo was about to turn and retrace his steps when he heard a voice. 

"Frodo . . . " 

Frodo froze at the sound of his named being called. It was so slight and weak that he thought he was imagining it at first. Then he heard it again. He turned and strode in the general direction he assumed that it originated from. He crossed the area into another room. It was dark and smelled even more ghastly than the room before, but all that was forgotten as soon as he could make out the person who was calling him from behind a small cell. 

"Frodo?" 

The hobbit couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never been so relieved and sorrowful to see someone. It was his Sam, but a half starved and beaten Sam. 

"Sam!" he exclaimed falling to his knees and gripping the weak hand reaching for him. He felt tears spring to his eyes at the full sight of his friend. 

"Oh, Sam. I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry," he choked while kissing the little soiled hand. 

"Frodo? Is it really you? She said you were dea-, She said-" he spoke with much effort. 

"Shhh, Sam. Save your strength. I will get you out of there." 

Frodo's mind raced at how he would accomplish this. I eyed the lock on the door, and knew at once that there was no way he could break it himself. Before he could go over other possibilities, a harsh voice stole his attention. 

"Slave boy! What are you doing by those condemned?" It was obviously an orc. Frodo grimaced at what the thing had addressed him as. He took a deep breath, stood, and turned to confront him, hoping that the gem on his forehead meant more than just protection. 

Frodo drew in a sharp breath at the sheer size of this monster before him. He braced himself and hoped that the hesitation he thought he saw in the burly orc was a good sign that he was the one intimidated by the stone Nafeatir gave him. 

"I am no slave. I am the personal companion to the Lady Nafeatir. Finding favor in her eyes, I have been bestowed authority. She has sent me to retrieve this captive," he pointed to Sam. "And she demands that he be released immediately." 

"You are quite a way away from your mistress, aren't you whelp? No matter if she places you as the king of her towers, I will not recognize your authority here." 

"Very well, I will return to her at once and report your unwillingness to respond to direct orders," Frodo prayed that he would not falter in his bluff. He raised his chin and proceeded to make like he was about to leave. He walked proudly by the orc and a few steps more before he heard a reply. 

"That won't be necessary! Seeing that it is just a worthless being about to die anyway, I'll let you have him." 

Frodo let out a breath in relief. 

He heard the jingling of many keys as the monster searched for the correct one. Frodo glanced around at the other cells to find only half decayed creatures, and some newly dead ones. He shuddered to think how much longer it would've been till Sam would have suffered the same fate as those unfortunate beings. 

The sound of the creaking door brought him back to Sam's cell. He couldn't help but rush past the orc to Sam. For a moment Frodo was startled at the size difference. He was after all altered in stature while his good friend remained the same. Frodo then marveled at how skinny this once perfectly healthy hobbit had become. He circled his arms around the gardener, and lifted him easily. Frodo felt moisture threaten his eyes as he felt the ribs under the rags of clothes. 

"Frodo . . . Frodo," was all Sam would murmur. 

"I am here, Sam." 

Frodo returned his gaze to the drooling orc. He clenched his mouth together and glared at him. 

"Since you have hindered my Lady's desire. I ask that you will escort me back to the start of her towers." 

The orc grunted, but turned and hobbled out the entrance. Frodo gasped in relief as the situation turned for the best. 

------- 

Frodo dabbed Sam's heated forehead with a damp cloth. 

"Frod- Fro-," he continued to mumble in a restless dream. 

"Come, Sam. Please awake," he pleaded with his friend, but the only response was the endless calls from his sleep. Frodo buried his head in his arms on the bed. There had been no progress with Sam since he arrived safely back to his chamber. He had washed him up as best as he could, but now he needed him to be awake. Sam needed food and water. There was not telling when the last time he had either of these. 

Frodo tensed when he heard a noise. Had the sorceress returned? When he had made it back with Sam he had found that Nafeatir was not waiting for him. She had no doubt gone looking for him. He feared what her mood would be like when she finally found him here. 

He looked up only to find Sam staring at him with the widest eyes he had ever seen. He gripped his smaller hand quickly. 

"Sam!" 

"Mr. Frodo? Is this real, or am I dead?" Frodo laughed. 

"No, no dear Sam. I am real and you are safe with me." 

"But you are supposed to be dead, she told me you were dead. I didn't want to believe it sir, forgive me for giving in at the end, forgive me," he knelt his head and studied the details of Frodo's hand. 

"There's nothing to forgive Sam. Unless to say that you should forgive me. I dragged you to Mordor, and I've failed everyone." 

He waited for a reply, but it didn't come. He gazed at Sam to find him still analyzing his hand with amazement. 

"Frodo?" he asked while meeting his eyes with his own. 

He pulled his hand back and stood. Sam had not seen his new state. There was much to explain. 

"Frodo, what has happened to you?" 

Before he could answer he heard the chamber doors open and someone enter. 

"Elenti?" the sorceress called from her room. She soon appeared in his doorway. 

"Oh, Frodo! I was so worried. You had not returned in such a long time. I went searching-" she stopped when her eyes fell on the one lying on the bed. 

"Frodo! That's the one! She lied to me, saying you were dead. Stay behind me, Mr. Frodo, sir I'll protect you." 

Sam had struggled out of his covers and tried to get to his feet. Frodo quickly rushed up to him and pressed him back down. 

"Sam, Sam, it is well. Do not fret. She does not intend to harm me." 

"But she is a vile creature, Mr. Frodo. You should've seen what she did to her own soldiers below her at that dreadful-" 

"Silence!" 

Both hobbits turned to look at the unreadable face of the woman with fear in their eyes. She approached them slowly. 

"What is the meaning of this, Frodo?" 

"I got lost when I was allowed out," he replied timidly. "And I came across my friend. The one I spoke of the other day." 

"Yes, I remember..," she reached out and caressed Frodo's face. "I was so worried about you, my love. I shall see that no further excursions will be granted to you, unless you know the lay of my towers better." She smiled at him, and then threw a rather hateful glance at Sam before returning to her own chamber. 

Frodo watched her go. He was afraid to meet the questioning eyes of his beloved friend. 

"There is much to tell," he finally said still not willing to gaze into Sam's eyes. 

"Frodo." 

The one word from him seemed to be the greatest beaconing Sam could have spoken to get him to look at him. He met his eyes. "Sam," he began slowly. "She brought me here, changed me into this form. She takes care of me for the most part." Sam faces only became more confused. 

"But, why?" 

"I'm somewhat puzzled by this myself. She claims that she does all this because she has feelings for me," He paused for a moment. "Because she says that she loves me." 

A thoughtful quiet then rested upon his friend. Frodo wondered what thought path he had put him on from his last statement. 

"Mr. Frodo, did you hear the way she commanded us into silence? I've seen the carnage she has done. Frodo, I do not want to have you in her care. Her true intentions could be anything." 

His nightmare from earlier came rushing back with Sam's words. They were all too true. She was unpredictable concerning what history lies behind her even if she continues to speak endearing to him 

"I know. But we have no choice. There is no escaping her. She is agreeable most of the time, and she's never intentionally harmed me." 

"There is not telling what she could do to you," 

"Sam, Sam," he said urgently while pressing him to lie down. "You don't need to get so excited, you are not well. You need to eat." 

"I am more worried about you, sir." 

"I will be fine, besides I have you with me now, and you will protect me," he added with a laugh. 

"Of course, but I don't see anything amusing about that," Sam said with some indignation. 

"I only laugh because I am happy. Happier than I've been in a long while, now that you are here." 

------- 

Nafeatir gazed at Frodo and the one he referred to as 'Sam' unnoticed from the door to her room, but mostly she studied Frodo. She had never seen him so happy before. He wasn't smiling though his eyes sparkled so beautifully as he gazed at the other hobbit. 

She was further amazed when he did smile and then laugh. She had never heard him laugh before, and it sounded so sweet to her ears. It was as fresh to her as the morning air during a cold winters day. But he was not smiling at her nor was he laughing in amusement over something she had said. These gifts were given to the other hobbit, and she loathed him for it. 

Nafeatir tensed when Frodo sat beside him, and he took Frodo's hand in his and kiss it in appreciation. She turned away not able to torment herself anymore. She looked down at her own hands to find them trembling in bitterness and envy. She willed herself into calmness. Afraid of what might become of such violent emotions. After all that last thing she would want to do is harm Frodo. 

------- 

  


  
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	15. Dark Light

Dark Light  


Kenobi 

A/N: I have no excuse for the extreme delay. Simply that as the story progresses it become more and more difficult to focus on all the different points. Forgive me if this chapter is lacking in Frodo scenes. I had a lot of Aragorn and Legolas facts and settings to cover. 

If you check my profile there should be a link to my livejournal. I thought that maybe in a small way that could help me stay focused and motivated...just trying it out. Anyway, thank you all for your patience.   
And as always forgive the occasional typos. ^-^ 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

------- 

It would be on this day that the enormous group would disperse into three different companies. Many discussions were going on and all the plans that till then had been set were now being put to work. Some would wonder how the magic of the fairiës could keep all the sound in and away from enemies. 

It was during times like these when Pippin felt idle and unimportant, and he longed for another hobbit to share his feelings with. He had made many friends with the men, but he could go to none of them at that moment. They were all occupied. 

The lonely hobbit sat down on a nearby patch of cold grass and sighed loudly. His fairië companion Tanta who was prone to much sleeping stumbled off his shoulder at his sudden drop to the ground. She blinked to bring herself to full awareness before looking upon her master. 

"What troubles you?" 

What was bothering him? Could it be the fact that he could not help during this important hour? Could it be that all his man friends were too busy to spend time with him? Or could it be the longing for others like himself and home? 

"Many things," he simply said. 

She fluttered her wings in a kind of a stretch. Flying around she landed on his raised knee and looking into his eyes. 

"Many things? We are not needed elsewhere, my friend. We have plenty of time." 

Pippin smiled. It was rather silly of him to think to bother the others who are busy when he had a loyal friend so close. Even if she often fell asleep during his tales, songs, and long lists of family members. 

"I suppose that I merely worry about my family and homeland, just like everyone else here." 

"The land of hobbits?" she asked. 

"Yes," Pippin replied with a small chuckle. "And if you had stayed awake long enough when I talk you would have known this it is called the Shire." 

The small creature laughed heartily at his slight scolding. 

"If you worry so, why don't you send someone to see the condition of your homeland?" 

All of the many thoughts that circled in his mind came to a sudden stop. He then turned his mind on Tanta idea. Why couldn't he? 

"What a splendid idea!" He spoke abruptly in excitement. Though as soon as it had come, it vanished again. "But, no. Everyone is too busy with today and other plans to worry about a few hobbits." 

Certainly Aragorn would be interested, but so many other duties now filled his mind. He would want to do the same as Tanta had suggested. Unfortunately he doubted Aragorn could spare the time and people to carry it out. If only Merry was there, he would have a capital idea to solve this immediately. 

"Perhaps if I go?" So long had his friend been silent he had thought she had fallen asleep again. 

Pippin gazed long at the small face of the fairië. All humor and amusement had vanished. What remained was sincerity. 

"I would not send you out into that darkness alone." 

Insouciance once again returned with her laughter. "You underestimate my value, Peregrin Took." 

"And I do believe that you overestimate it. Not long ago, if you recall, you knew absolutely nothing about yourself. Not until Valain informed you of your identity." 

"Tis true, but much wisdom have I learned since then. Much have I recalled of my purpose since I first awoke in this realm." 

Pippin knew from the power in her words that he could not dissuade her with his hobbit sense. He did not want her to be lost, yet he was joyful that she would take a task that would put his mind at ease. 

"Very well-" 

"Come then," she interjected while flying up in haste. "Let us not tarry another moment," 

Pippin quickly stood and started in the direction of the edge of the camp. They did not allow many past the borders for fear that they would be seen while outside the protection of the fairiës. So he would have to quietly sneak past the other in order to let Tanta start her journey. 

"It will no doubt be a long road, my friend," she whispered in his ear. 

This was all too true. Her company for that period would be sorely missed. The others might take notice that his guardian would be missing. He let that not worry him. He would just truthfully tell them the truth. It would be a small matter to the others anyway. 

Pippin saw Legolas at his usual resting area: Beside the ill Prince Imrahil. He stopped to observe his options. He could easily slip past the borders around where the sick were being kept. So he traveled close to where Legolas sat. Pippin was thankful for the gift of silence that hobbits seemed to have when it came to stealing away. 

He had come so close to Legolas that he could discern some of what they spoke. 

"What troubles you, this day my elf friend?" Imrahil inquired. 

Curious he stayed to hear what Legolas' answer would be. 

"I worry about my father," at long last Legolas replied. "I have faith in Aragorn's leadership, yet I grieve that none of our company will go in the direction of my home and family." 

"I am sure," Imrahil's voice came strained and broken between long intakes of air. "That our leader knows what is best. Could supplies and allies come from a trip to Mirkwood?" 

"Yes, but he fears the road to my father's house. Mirkwood has always been dark even in peaceful times. He does not think it wise to bring such a large company in its midst, and he is correct." 

There was a silence between the two. Pippin took this chance to tear himself away from eavesdropping, and slipped past them into the dark woods. Pippin knew how Legolas felt concerning his home and family. Perhaps if he would also send his fairië ahead to learn of Mirkwoods well-being then his heart would be at ease. Pippin would be sure to mention that to him in the future. 

"We are away from camp now Tanta," he whispered to his shoulder area. He saw a flap of wings and then she was before him. 

"I know not how long I will be away, for I do not know the road to your dwellings save for what you have told me. Do not look at me so. You would be surprised to know how much of what you said that I have heard." 

"I am sorry I cannot tell you more than I have. Please be careful Tanta, and do hurry back if it is at all possible." 

The fairië stayed and gazed at him with a wary expression on her small face. 

"Now do not worry about me. I am in safe keeping while I am under the care of Legolas and Aragorn. It is you that needs to be wary of the evil that lurks out there." 

"I will," she said finally, and was away into the shadowed forests before Pippin could breathe another word. 

------- 

They had not been on the road for a day when the news came. When another tragedy hit even while they still mourned the passing of the House of Elrond. 

Aragorn turned his back to the fairië that had come into his presence a mere few minutes ago. 

"How many?" Aragorn asked his gaze looking far into the horizon as if he himself could see all those who were lost. 

"More than half. Those who survived have scattered or were taken captive," spoke the mournful *fairy* before him. 

They had only separated three days ago. The company lead by Captain Bardia that were appointed to journey in direction of Gondor to learn of its welfare, had been attacked. 

He clutched his teeth together to keep the emotion from boiling over. So many were lost, and this was only the beginning. How many more would they lose before it would end. 

"It must be borne," Gandalf replied from where he has previously sat quietly. 

------- 

Solemn was the face of Legolas of the Woodland Realm at the news of the lost branch of men. First Rivendell had been reduced to ash with only a handful of survivors, and now a third of the allied forces were dead or worse. The company of orcs that had come upon them must have been some number to have struck them so terribly as this. 

He wished to speak with Aragorn of the matter, but first he would tell of the sorrow to his friend. Legolas felt pity for those who were still bound to the wounded area. He had seen many regain their strength and join those ready to take a stand against the evil, and he had seen some die of their mortal wounds. 

As soon as Imrahil was in his sight he knew that something was amiss. Slowly he approached the side of his friend, finding his face intensely pale and dreadfully still. No breath came forth from his frozen lips, and Legolas knew that the time of their fellowship together had ended. His spirit had departed to where the greater powers kept the spirits of men, and where he knew he would never rejoin him. 

Legolas sank to his knees. He lay his head upon the breast of Imrahil and softly began a song of lamentation for the dead as a few tears slide down his cheeks. 

'Where have you gone   
Imrahil the Elven fair?   
Why not in battles where you belong?   
Where is the shining armor you bear? 

Why so early must you go?   
Why leave these green shores so hollow?   
Leaving so soon   
To dwell where the Eldar cannot follow.' 

The elf whispered a few farewell verses in his own tongue before he meditated on the peace that remained after one has departed from the world. His fairië was silent beside him. 

------- 

Legolas opened his eyes at the sound of another. He lifted his head from where it rested on the chest of the departed Imrahil. The sound was of another crying as he had, yet with no restraint on the emotion that he felt. He ventured not far from where he was lamenting the death of Imrahil, and he came upon Pippin. The hobbit was hugging his knees crying bitterly. 

The elf bent down and wrapped his arms around his small frame. He hugged Pippin, and held him till he quieted some. For a moment he wondered if one of the enemies most efficient tools were despair and sorrow, for it was working well. 

"Thank you, Legolas. I have heard the worst news a hobbit can hear," his words were broken by sobs and the occasional sniff. 

"My home, my family and friend-" with that being said the tears overcame him again. Legolas brought him in close again, cradling his head on his shoulder. He gazed down on his smaller shoulder to see his *fairy* also weeping. 

"What have you discovered?" 

"Tanta says she saw a large group of hobbits being- being lead to the east by orcs-" at these words Pippin buried his face back into the shoulder of the listening elf. 

" I saw them very early in my journey. I hurried back at once, Master elf. I had to tell," said Pippins fairië with earnest. 

Legolas continued to comfort the weeping hobbit, while he pondered all these misfortunes. Indeed, despair was an efficient weapon. 

------- 

Sam choked down the final spoonful of broth reluctantly. Food was a pleasure that had lost its delight, yet he could not turn down Frodo's persistent coaxing. 

"There you go. You'll be back to your old self in no time!" Frodo said as cheerfully as possible. 

Sam smiled weakly at him, taking in all the details that were Frodo. If it were up to Sam, it would be him lying in the bed with Sam feeding him. He was terribly thin. Was that sorceress trying to starve him to death? He was at least grateful that he had not seen the distrubing elf for a long while. Sam loathed the fact the care of Frodo had been ripped from him by a dominating elf-witch. He was more pale, though less edgy from when he had the ring. Although the disquietude was replaced by a spirit of helplessness or hopelessness. Obviously, she needed lessons on how to care for others. 

"Sam, don't look at me as if I'm the one to worry about." 

"How can I not worry about you, Mr. Frodo-" 

"Now, now. To ease you some, with you here, I haven't been so content since I can last recall." 

"Well, I should say so! Your Sam's here to see that that thing will not harass you," Sam sighed deeply. " I should have known that you were alive." 

Frodo laid his soft hand on one of his calloused once. "Sam, don't even blame yourself. It was my task, and this is my fate. You cannot take them from me." 

"No, but I could've carried your burden more. Aided more! I know I could've!" 

"Sam," Frodo simply said as he squeezed his hand. "Come, now, do you want to hear a tale?" 

"Yes, please!" Sam said with an almost giddy excitement. Frodo laughed and walked over to where all his books and papers were strewn over his desk. He plucked up a pile of papers that Sam could tell was in his flowing handwriting. He watched as Frodo leafed through them. 

"Let me tell you the bittersweet tale of Endymoin." 

------- 

"Lord Aragorn, may I have a word please?" 

Aragorn looked up from where he sat hunched his head in his hands. He simply nodded to his elf friend. He was grateful for his company though he already had a feeling what was to be said. 

"I know what road it is that you wish for me to take, but we cannot go in that direction. It is too great a risk. Lothlorien holds many promises and great allies." 

Aragorn pondered Legolas where he stood across from him. Minutes, (could it have been hours?) Ticked by as they lingered in their own minds, and silently comprehending each others. Abruptly, he stood and faced the thoughtful elf before him. 

"I cannot bear this death and darkness any longer. I go to my father's realm, whether anyone should follow me or not," Legolas proclaimed finally forming in words the meaning that Aragorn already knew. 

"Legolas, do not abandon me. Not now, I rely on your words of wisdom often," he said sternly with little pleading. 

"Then harken to these words now: Linger and soon all of us will be taken into shadows." 

"With haste there follows regret." 

"Do not think me rash, my friend. I go because I feel good will soon come of it," He stepped forward and they embraced. " I wish not to depart with heart hardened toward me." 

Aragorn would say no more. Prince Legolas knew what was before him as well as he knew what lay behind. He would not hinder him. 

------- 

"Legolas! Where are you going?" He turned to see Pippin running through the men in his direction. 

"I go where I must," he said softly. "Be an encouragement to Lord Aragorn while I am away." 

The look in the hobbits eyes were almost enough to make him stay, if only to keep the halfling company. 

"But, Legolas. Can you take me with you, or rather why not send Golradir to learn of information from Mirkwood." 

"I'm afraid not, Master Pippin. I mean to give all haste to come to my father dwelling myself. " 

Legolas bent down and gathered the small hobbit into his arms for an embrace. Pulling away he peered into his teary eyes. " I will return, Pippin. Run along and tell Aragorn all that you previously told me." 

He then instantly stood and soundlessly trotted into the darkness. 

------- 

Nafeatir entered her chamber. For a moment she forgot her recent frustrations concerning her masters armies. She forgot the number that they lost to a handful of enchanted flying nuisances. She forgot it all when she saw who was within her room. Frodo stood by the balcony doors gazing out across the dark lands. It was unlike him to ever linger in her room for long. But she was thankful for his presence and cared not why he was in her dwelling. 

She quickly and silently crossed the room to approach the still hobbit. 

"How fare you this evening, my love?" she whispered into his ear. 

He jumped lightly, and she smiled in amusement. He will never be cured of his nervousness. He quickly whirled around and faced her. 

"I am sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I will return back to my area," he turned and managed to get two steps away before she seized his hand. 

"Preposterous. Whatever gave you the idea that I wanted you ever to be far from me?" 

Nafeatir moved closer to him ignoring the fact that he had stepped away from her, his back hitting the nearby wall 

"Never far," she murmured. She just wanted to be by him and forget all the cares and cautions. 

"Melindonya Elenti, nart voro írima," she said as she placed her hand on his cheek and gazed into his deep eyes. What she saw was fear, and for a moment she wondered what he saw in her eyes that frightened him so. She blinked trying to rid herself of whatever was disturbing the hobbit. 

"Please," he whispered. 

She continued to stroke his face tenderly. She finished by cupping his cheek. She wanted to tell him something to assure him of her sincerity, but she could not find the words. 

"Nafeatir, my lady, please. I do- I don't." 

"Shh, little one." 

Nafeatir closed in and softly placed her lips on his jawbone. His skin was soft beneath her lips, and he smelt pure and sweet, like fresh air or newly ripened berries. She found herself unable to control the following kisses she planted on his face while her hand smoothed the flawless skin on his cheek. He made no move to return her affection. At this realization she became more relentless, more eager to feel him and have him respond positively. 

Like most of her actions toward him he reacted as a frightened animal. She heard his pleading and whimpers of discomfort and protest as she lightly nipped at the skin of his neck. Though he was not going to get sympathy this time. She roughly shoved him more up against the wall, pressing herself against him. 

Unfortunately for her, the more she tried the more he fought back. 

'This is absurd,' she thought to herself at his disquiet. She felt her anger build up inside of her, threatening to boil over at his persistent stubbornness. Pulling away momentarily she brought back her hand and let it swing, striking him hard across his face. Frodo's eyes doubled in surprise as he clutched at his injured cheek. 

Nafeatir's anger was sated for a moment as she eyed him actually in a calm state. She was about to close in and continue when the look in his eyes registered. Eyes so full of doubt and confusion. 

Nafeatir looked down on her own hand, and then at what she had done. As if out of a trance, she saw the awfulness of one of her deeds. 

"Oh, Frodo-" before she could say more she felt small yet surprisingly strong hands pushing her away from him. 

"Get back! Don't you touch him again, you she-devil!" 

In mysterious passivity she gazed back on the other hobbit's furious face. Anger drove him to protect Frodo. Her anger made her harm him. 

She looked long at the halfling called Sam and she observed the fear that was mingled with his courage and love toward his master. Turning her eyes upon Frodo who had sunk to the floor, and she saw the uncertainty and dread in his eyes as they timidly shifted from her to Sam. Finally her fiery glances rested on her own hands, and she saw, she perceived, all the blood that stained him over her years of servitude to the Dark Lord. How could she be gentle when all she had known for so long was hurt and angst? She really was what the eyes of Frodo proclaimed her to be: a monster. 

She turned and departed quickly. 

------- 

  
A/N: The one elvish sentence is translated, "Melindonya Elenti, nart voro írima." = My lover Elenti, you are ever fair/desirable. I don't pretend to know that much about elvish so if this is faulty forgive me and send me an email or something. Thank you. 

  
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	16. The White Sail

The White Sail

Kenobi 

A/N: 

Come to my livejournal (check in my profile) and leave me a message. ^-^ I'de love to talk with all of you lovely readers. 

Since my last chapter had very little of Frodo in it, this one will almost be entirely of the little hobbit. 

--- 

Disclaimer:   
I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters.   
Although one is mine.   
And of course there are *spoilers* if you have never read the books. 

------- 

"Mr. Frodo! Frodo are you all right?" 

"Yes, Sam," Frodo replied while uncurling himself from the wall. 

"No, you're not. You can't stay here with her, Mr. Frodo. I told you so - beggin' your pardon sir. Is it bad? Let me have a look at it." 

Frodo removed his hand from his cheek. Sam gasped. 

"Mr. Frodo, Oh- I'm sorry," he lightly touched the blue and black bruise that was forming on his skin. "I'll kill her before she touches you again!" 

"Sam, please understand. I feel that same way as you. She quite frankly terrifies me, but-" he paused, rethinking what he had seen. "There was something in her face. Did you see it? For that moment when she struck me her eyes were aflame as they are always, and then suddenly the fire within them was put out. And then there was so much emptiness." 

"I won't have you hurt again," he said seemingly not hearing Frodo. He managed a smile. 

"I know, Sam. Thank you." 

------- 

Even as the two hobbits started to calm from the scene that had come to pass their blood chilled all the more at the sound of a dreadful yell. It was a scream of frustration that echoed through all the surrounding halls. The hobbits could only guess that this was the dark mistress, but none spoke of it fearing the scream would come again. 

After entering one of her work-related chamber she opened her mouth and let out a cry of her utter defeat. The scream was not satisfying enough. She swung her arms sending all the contents of a neighboring table crashing to the floor. 

She watched the crystal vials fall and shatter into diamond fragments on the stone floor. She had done this. Violence appeared to be the only language she was comfortable speaking. 

Her fury was tamed by the realization that in her hostile actions she would only continue to ruin that which was once beautiful. So she sank to the floor, gathering up the remains of the jar together. Piecing them back together as her mind replayed over and over again what had just transpired. When one particularly sharp piece pricked her till blood soiled the gathered particles, no form of apparent pain was on her face. 

"Why," she whispered. 'Why, do I continue to hurt him? Why is no progress made?' 

In reply to her questions her mind brought about all the injured looks he had given her during the time he had dwelt with her. Laughter seemed to come with every image in her mind, little did she know that it was her own sadistic chuckles. 

Nafeatir then heard the words of her master, yet again, haunt her. She was Ungoliant. She was evil to the core. She would be his ruin and he would be hers. 

Long she sat there at first piecing together the broken vessel. Hours of thought were of such a consistency that she laughed at a probable end. All that was and is, was in her mind. She reached back as far as she could to find some memory of when she was not so vile. It was an immense task, yet she could see some sunlight in the darkness of her thoughts. Although even her earliest days were wrought with a small itch of frustration. 

So she returned to her present torture. One she thought she cared for suffered day after day because of her. All she wanted was to touch the mortal, perhaps to kiss him and make him, hers. 

At long last-maybe days-footsteps could be heard. Her wild thoughts were replaced with wonderment at the coming sound. 

------- 

Frodo rubbed the sore flesh around the bruise on his cheek as he ventured through the many halls of the tower. He knew how easily one could get lost, and he had not a clue where Nafeatir had retreated to. She might not even be still in Barad-dur, but he had to try and find her. She was gone too long, and he had to speak with her. 

He would have been out searching for her earlier if Sam had not hindered him. Even now he was probably waiting anxiously for his return. Frodo promised not to be long. If he did not keep his word, he doubted that Sam would stay put. 

Not far he saw a familiar chamber. He was sure this was on that she frequented, for he could recall how she had shown him its contents with apparent pride and delight. One of its double doors was halfway open. He sped up his pace and without hesitation entered. 

Hesitation however soon stilled his boldness. There sat the sorceress stoically still and quiet, her eyes staring without a blink at a distant wall. 

He breathed deeply and began to come nearer to her. 

"Frodo, do not come any closer, for I do not know what I will do." 

He stopped, and waited till she looked in his direction. 

"Why have you come? Why do you approach one who has hurt you, and who will harm again?" 

"Nafeatir, I've come to-" he paused not sure what it was he came to say. "I don't hate you. I wished to say that I forgive you." He wanted to go on, but lost the right words. 

All words were abandoned then at that moment. As he realized what he had said and knew that he meant it. He patiently regarded her. A change vaguely came over her, and when she met his eyes, it was the same look he had seen earlier. She no longer appeared as a shadow of Sauron, but a burdened elf maiden who was allowed a moment of relief. 

"I love you, Frodo," she whispered so softly that he barely heard. He smiled at the woman, their eyes connecting without friction for those few seconds. He then promptly returned back to Sam. 

------- 

Sam saw her return from wherever she had been for the past couple of days. He had dearly hoped that she would just stay away. He and Frodo had become almost content without her interfering with her unusual intentions. When Frodo had left to go find her, and had returned unharmed and with a lighter deposition, he was sure that he had used his way with words and commanded the dark shadow to never haunt them again. Unfortunately he was wrong. 

The sorceress entered and appeared to not acknowledge them at all. After perusing of a couple of book she merely sat in front of the fireplace. Sam was positive that he heard her mumble every so often. He feared some spell, but said nothing of it to Frodo. 

Frodo noticed her, but neither said anything to her nor spoke of her to him. Sam caught him twice staring in her direction with his eyebrows drawn close together which only happened when he was in distress or thoughtful. 

After a day of her unceasing presence and silence Sam could contain himself no more. All the speeches and words must be spoken or he would seem useless to his master in this present time. 

Sam waited till Frodo had disappeared to the neighboring massive library. He would not be out for a long time. Sam took a deep breath and summoned all his courage. He jumped out of bed and made it as quickly as possible across the large room the adjoining chamber of the Sorceress. 

There she was. Her fiery eyes battling with the flames of the fire place. He did not even know if she was conscious. Perhaps that is what gave him courage. He took comfort in the fact that she might not even hear what he had to say. 

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again feeling he was not close enough. Willing his feet to move he approached her from the left, and then tried again. 

"Now, you see here. Just because Mr. Frodo is a hobbit doesn't mean you can go about doing and saying whatever you want to him. He is not property no matter what. Frodo has certain needs. I don't understand why you think you have so much liberty with him! He's been through plenty in his life, and he don't need someone taking advantage of him, and - and I just won't stand for it!" 

Sam stopped his lecture feeling he really wasn't vocalizing what he wanted to say in Frodo behalf. As he collected his thoughts, she spoke. 

"I would hazard everything that I have and all of me to grant his heart's desire, halfling. Let those words put you at ease." 

"And what if he wants to leave this place?" 

"Sending him to death? Never, would I allow that." 

Feeling bold by her provoking status Sam drew himself up and continued. 

"You would stifle him here, till you've smothered him with your ignorance of what he really needs." 

"I will give him all my towers if he feels crowded." 

"You will starve him of light and goodness and-" 

"Then I shall have to provide him with more history of such things for him to delight in." 

"Grief will be the death of him from lack of real friendship and love." 

Silence fell. Sam was startled by her tardy reply. He soon wondered if she would even say anything at all. He should have been frightened that he had overstepped his bounds, but he had said a portion of his peace and that was worth risk. 

She would say nothing in response, and he could not take her bearing anymore. He left her, but neither had come out on top during their small exchange. 

------- 

Frodo had come into her room hours ago and sat down close to the sorceress though not right by. He brought with him a book, and had occupied himself with it. Why he had come in the room was a mystery even to him. Was he really concerned for his dark hostess? Frodo nodded to himself when the question formed in his mind. He already knew that she was unpredictable, so he did not even guess at her unusual behavior, for this might be her natural mood. Yet he could not understand why she refused to acknowledge him ever since she returned. 

In a moment it all shifted. He looked up and she was towering before him. She touched his still sensitive cheek. Nafeatir examined the injury passively, but gravely. 

"Oh my sweet Elenti . . . ," was her only response to the hurt. 

"Come, let me show you something," she said as she grasped his hand. Frodo set aside his book, and stood. She drew him over to one side of the room. Upon releasing his hand she went to a nearby shelf and pulled forth a yellow jar. She beckoned him closer as she poured the contents into her hand. It was a grey dust-like substance that baffled him as to its intent. 

"Look,"she said before breathing upon the particles sending them into the open air before her and Frodo. He watched with interest as the glittering dots did not disperse, but rather they were suspended in an oval shape. Before long color began to move within their midst, and soon take shapes. 

He gasped when he found he recognized what grew within. 

"Momma?" he whispered. 

What the dust presented was an image of a pretty hobbit lass bending down to scoop up a small child. She hugged him close and kissed his curls. Frodo couldn't hear what was being said but it appeared that it was bedtime for the hobbit-lad. She carried the hesitant boy to his bed and tucked him in. She then sat beside him and gazed on him for a few seconds her face expressing such sentiment for the boy. 

'Do you wish me to sing your restless lids to sleep, little Baggins?' he heard after the image had solidified. 

The boy nodded as he tried to suppress a yawn. 

"Go to sleep and dream of me   
Dream of cloudless skies, and sunshine   
So soon you'll wake and then you'll see   
That your blue gaze and sweet embrace are mine." 

The child was sleeping before she even finished the final line. Standing in the doorway Frodo could see an older hobbit with a sizable tummy before him. The hobbit lass caught eyes with him and smiled. 

As the vison faltered, so did Frodo. He sank into a seat near him, hiding his face in his hands as the tears flowed. Long ago he had grieved for the loss of his parents. It seemed unusual to mourn more so many years after, yet he did. The death of his parents was the first taste of bitterness in his existence. Ever after he would taste it again and again. 

"Silly hobbit, you know not of the many sorrows of men and elves, for if you did you would not weep with such a passion at this." 

"These are my sorrows," he spoke as steadily as he could. "Have I not the right to weep for them?" 

"Nay, cry on, my love." 

And he did, till he forgot the sadness that the vision had brought and realized its gift. His mother's voice was now so fresh and comforting in his mind. 

"Thank you, Lady Nafeatir." 

"Forgive me Elenti, if that disturbed you so." 

"No, I'm grateful." 

He wiped the remainder of his tears on his sleeve and looked up at her. She returned his gaze with another one of those unreadable faces that she often had. It was neither chillingly evil nor as mild as he had seen it. She sat on the floor before him and took his hand in hers. 

"Lady Nafeatir, were you always like this. In The Dark Lord's power?" 

Frodo could see that it was her turn to be astonished. She appeared to study his hand more closely as she wondered over the question he laid out to her. 

"Was I always in the servitude of Sauron? No. There was a time when I was not." 

"How long ago?" 

"Long before ages were even numbered, my love. Before I was called Nafeatir: the fire spirit. When I was addressed as-" she closed her eyes. "Nimuial." 

"Was the world so different when you were called that? I wonder what it was like." 

"Very different. So much so that I have difficulty recalling it. Shadows and clouds cover it from me." 

"Nimuial," Frodo repeated softly. He saw her smile and then gently brought his hand to her lips kissed it tenderly. 

------- 

Frodo's eyes flew open at the intensity of whatever shadows haunted his sleep. He knew that he had been running but that was all that lingered. Often with the light of awakening comes also forgetfulness of dreams. His soon faded till he could only recall the feeling of dread. His mind still tarried in dreamy state as he beheld the sorceress standing over him. Darker than ever she seemed. She reached down and touched him on his face, and he instantly fell back into a slumber. 

------- 

The breeze was neither too chilling nor uncomfortably warm. It blew over him lightly caressing his face, hands and feet, reminding him that there was a whole world to enjoy and not squander in sleep. 'But that didn't seem right, something was wrong.' 

He opened his eyes to a dark-blue sky that came with late evening, and to the feeling of the softest grass when he moved his hands. As he sat up his attention was captured by this sky. It was veiled in a dark blue, yet there was something amiss. Long he held his gaze, trying to discover its meaning. 

Other curiosities took his attention away. He saw that he was not alone by far. A grand bonfire was being lite, and everywhere there were elves dressed in white. Some lay on the ground as he had been, others helped with the fire, while still other ate berries and laughed amongst themselves. There were music, voices and unknown instruments echoing from the forest to the far left. He thought instruments, but the musical notes that he heard were too pure to be produced from some device. It was almost as if the swaying and rustling of the trees were responsible for what was heard. The ground was carpeted with yellow, gold, and even shades of white leaves that gleamed like silver, yet all the surrounding trees still had their adorning leaves on their branchy fingers. 

When he turned his attention back to the fire, it was already large. There was a shout of joy and the music filled the area more potently. The elves were beautiful though fairly out of place. They did not seem like any other elves he had seen. 

It was all new and old to his eyes. Part of him welcomed the celebrations, knowing that this was the time it normally took place, while the other half looked on in stunned amazement. He was not supposed to be here. All the people and their ways were new and foreign. 

As this confused battle of acceptance waged on a voice directed to him invaded his mind. He looked up to see an elf maiden standing over him smiling. 

"Come, Elenti let us join in the celebration," she held her hand out to him. 

His accepting mind at once informed him that this woman was of higher birth than him, and should invoke humbleness in him. His other half screamed that he was no elf. 

"Lady Nimuial, do you truly wish to dance with me? I am only Little-Star and rightly named am I." 

"Silence, I will listen to no more of that," she seized his hand. Before he had another moment to object he was being dragged to the assembled dancers who equally translated the music with their movements as they advanced around the fire. 

"Dancing has never been one of my gifts, my lady." 

She never replied, for the enchantment of song had already caused her to fall in unison with the others. The movements required became inscrutably second-nature. He dared to even call his turns and twists almost graceful. He was thankful for the surrounding elves and their surpassing grace. Perhaps onlookers would not pay any attention to the small hiccup in their dance. It was unlike what he was accustomed to where the dancing was merely to wiggle about and kick one's leg to a humorous lyric when said. Here arms were lifted slowly and elegantly as if they were swimming in the air around them. 'But wait, this is the kind of merrymaking I normally engage in! Where had that other notion come from? Or was my first inclination correct?' 

Puzzled as he was, he still continued to follow the lady around the bon fire until there was nothing but the music and all its enchantments. It told tales of what was to come. Of joyful times and great tragedies, and they danced on to the promise of new ages. 

At the conclusion of the music she threw her arms around him in an embrace and laughed joyfully in his ear. He returned the gesture lightly, but more timidly. He then begged leave to lie again on the unimaginably soft grass. Moving away, he fell to the green turf and silver leaves. 

She sat beside him and watched him as he fingered the softness beneath him. A new song started, and more elves started around the fire. Without words they sat and enjoyed each others company. What was there to talk about? The world was new. There were no wrongs to discuss or forgive. They had nothing but life and innocence. He could feel it. No heavy burden was on his mind. Almost childlike was his perception. The only thing that mattered was what he would do next and what he was doing now. And what he was doing now he rather liked: just delighting in the trees, song, breeze, and the company of another. 

At length he looked up and saw that she still stared at him. She did not frighten him. 'Should she?' he asked himself. He found her gaze more comforting than even the ethereal music. 

Long did they look at each other till a strange breeze drew his attention away. He saw a ship, indeed he had not even noted the seashore so close. The ship was small, yet decorative. But what singularly caught his eye was the white sail. 

Again the dual sides within him battled. Was this familiar because he saw it often or because of something he could not remember. 

Then he heard it. Someone calling for him, but it was not his name. 

"Frodo! Frodo! Wake up." 

------- 

"Frodo! Wake up, oh my dear master. Open your eyes," Sam pleaded again with the inanimate form of his friend. His only action was breathing and oddly enough incomprehensible elvish mutters. Sam had returned from his very brief walk in the library to find that Frodo was still sleeping. He was at first thankful for the rest he was getting. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen him slumber so long. 

He wasn't peaceful though. The elvish started soon after Sam had come back. An hour passed and still Frodo did not stir. Worried he tried to rouse him with no avail. It had come to a point of cradling his dreamy head in his lap and pleading over and over for him to awake. 

Sam nearly fell off the bed when he saw the familiar blue gaze suddenly upon him. 

"Sam!?" he gasped from his sudden awakening. 

"Yes, I am here." 

"Oh, have I been dreaming. I suppose I have. It's almost gone now." 

"You were speaking rather beautiful elvish, sir." 

"Was I?" 

Sam only nodded his answer. They stayed like that for a while, Sam being perfectly contented. Frodo arose and gave him a playful scowl. 

"Now, now Sam. What is all this? It is you who should be cared for. You have yet to be brought back to your old hobbit health." 

"I am just fine. I only worry-" 

"Don't fret. Come let us stretch our legs." 

"Yours no doubt will be needing a little more stretching than mine, beggin' your pardon sir." 

Frodo laughed at the length of his legs compared to Sam's. "You are right. I hope I will not tire you out, my friend." 

"No indeed!" Sam replied half indignant. 

------- 

Nafeatir watched the two depart laughing lightly to each other. The hobbit would be the death of her. He had awoken so many different things within herself, and some of them she'd rather be kept hidden. When she tasted his forgiveness, it had brought to her mind a purer form of compassion than what she had earlier spoke aloud as 'love. How long ago had she tasted unconditional and undeserved forgiveness? It was bittersweet. Made bitter by her pride, though its sweetness by far outweighed any darker feelings. She knew she didn't deserve to be forgiven, yet he forgave her. Such a show of humanity from him invoked old memories of such expressions. 

Raw anger pervaded her mind. She had been so close. Her intentions were absolutely pure, and they were now spoiled. She sought to give Frodo a chance to see her when she was not what she is now. Before the dream had even finished, it was interrupted. He won't even remember the beginning since it was not allowed to end. 

She had been satisfied these past few days. Suddenly, more than ever her malicious frustrations surfaced and she called her previous revelations vain and foolish. 

Nafeatir turned away and took from a table the jar of seeing-dust. Unceremoniously she dumped the remainder in her hand and scattered it before her. 

"Show me something that will aid me!" 

Quick scenes played diversely till it rested on one. It showed a very vast number of hobbit all marching and in chains. Many cried, some were provoked by the orcs that drove them wherever the Dark Lord saw it useful for them to be. Her speculation would be that they would be sent to work the fields and develop more for the nourishment of his servants and armies. 

Disappointed with the seemingly meaningless vision, she brushed away the dust and stormed through it returning to her previous grievances. 

She could not be cross with Frodo. He had been more precious to her these past days then when she first beheld him. It was the other. He continually got in her way. Now more than ever he was an obstacle: when Frodo had repeatedly been receptive to her. Or rather she was beginning to see what he had hinted at as true sentiment. Either way the other hobbit was in the way. She would never harm Sam. He was Frodo's dearest companion, she would no sooner harm Frodo (Nafeatir tried not to think of his bruised cheek ). 

'Was there and honorable reason for sending him away?' Maybe if she sectioned him off in another part of her towers. 

Nafeatir's eyes then caught again the scene that was revealed to her in the dust. Half of the particles still clung to the air playing out the tragic picture. 

She knew what she had to do. It was not entirely selfish. It might even be called noble. 

------- 

Strength was returning to the hobbit every day. Sam would walk often on his wobbly legs to regain their old stability. He had now come to a point where he could say that he was as strong as he had once been, though not nearly as 'healthy' in the ways of weight as a normal hobbit should be. 

He had turned Frodo's medical techniques back on his friend in the process of recovering his own health. If he took walks, it was almost impossible that he would go alone. He'd pull Frodo from the scrolls he studied or from his other past time-staring out the window- to bring him alone a natural walk. If Sam ate, he had to as well or Sam wouldn't even look at the food. Frodo had gained back some of his rosiness in his cheeks, but as for weight gain it was hopeless. Nevertheless, Sam was satisfied with progress of both of them. 

Could escape be possible for them? This question often came to him. He had thought over dozens of ideas. Unfortunately the very idea of coming out of Barad-dur's labyrinth would stifle every plan, no matter how innovative he thought it was. He'd even gone through a few of the books of Frodo's, looking for some other helpful hint to the puzzle. 

His review of all his efforts came to an abrupt halt at the sound of a familiar voice. It was not Frodo and it obviously wasn't the dark lady. This was a sweet sound issued from hobbit lips. 

Sam followed the sound into where it originated: Nafeatir's chamber. The sorceress was standing looking at a curious enchantment before her. Sam's gaze didn't stay on the witch long, for in the vision he saw Rosie Cotton as well as other long missed friends of his. To his horror they were in bondage being forced to walk on. Rosie's voice was what he had heard. She was trying with all the strength she had to be free from her chain. She was calling to her father with tears running down her fair face. Sam could only guess what had befallen good Farmer Cotton. 

"What's the meaning of this?" he managed. 

"Did you think that your beloved Shire was safe, Master Gamgee?" 

"No, this is some trickery of yours." 

She looked down on him with no hint of jest. She then observed the scene in the vision. Sam's eyes followed hers. He yelped when the image of an orc roughly grabbed Rosie by the arm and pushed her forward. 

"What is being shown is genuine whether you choose to believe it or not." 

Sam saw known faces muddied with grim, sweat and blood. There were other faces that he searched for in the moving crowd and found not. He brushed the tears from his cheeks. 

"Please, for Frodo's sake, you must do something. How can you look on these without a hint of pity?" 

"Long have I watched this," she waved her hand at the vision, "and I do believe that I have a suitable answer." 

Sam waited impatiently for her to walk away to a shelf on the other side of the chamber. 

"I have the means to allow you to be reunited with them all. You can save them all. I have here the quickest and easiest way out of these towers. They will even take you to where the horses are housed. From there you will find many exits. Take the rockiest one. Your fellow halflings are already past the White mountains and are being lead this way. Therefore, they are not far." 

Sam was overwhelmed at the load of information she quickly offered him. She wanted him to save them personally! 

"How can two hobbits fend off all those orcs?" 

She smiled and lifted a small vial from the shelf along with rolled up piece of brown paper. "Within this bottle is a concoction that will wrap such a dark cloud around you that all the orcs will flee thinking you are some legendary warrior of elves. It will last as long as you need it to." 

"So you wish us to go, Frodo and I to rescue mere hobbits. Isn't this a betrayal to your master?" 

"Worry not on that. I wish you to go, but you misunderstand me. I will give you all the means to go to them only on one condition." 

"Yes?" 

"Frodo will not be accompanying you. You go alone." 

"And leave him here? Never. So this is a ploy!" 

Not one perceptible emotion gave him a clue to her true intentions. 

"Very well, but you sentence your brothers, your sisters, and your friends to torment and a swift death, all for the needless protection of one." 

Sam caught one haunting image of Rosie sobbing before Nafeatir's thin fingers wiped the sight from existence as she moved from one side of the room to the fireplace. 

Sam thought of Frodo. He had left his side once thinking he was dead, and it had brought about so much regret. When he beheld him again here, he silently vowed not to leave him again, yet how could he denounce his own people. Rosie looked so real. Could it all be a cunning deception? What if it was sincere? 

Sam turned to retreat when he shut his eyes. He saw Rosie's sorrowful face as plainly there as if she was physically before him. He then thought of Frodo. He had just been meditating on his progress. He was safe here in a small way. 

He made a new promise. One to return somehow in someway, and free Frodo from the heart of Mordor. Though for now, he was secure. 

"Wait," Sam found himself speaking. "What else must be done?" 

------- 

Nafeatir was quick to provide him with a bag of needed supplies such as medical aids and traveling cakes and dried fruits. She gave him a couple of daggers and the small vial. 

"Follow me. I will show you the beginning of the path." 

She was out the entrance and down a couple of halls before she stopped to wait for him to catch up. 

"Here," she pushed on a large slab. She opened it enough for him to get through. She gave him a torch from the walls. "You will need this for the first half of your journey. As you go down you will see those inhabitants of this tower through small cuts in the rock. Do not tarry in front of them lest they see you. On the map, always follow the different pathways that lead to the left. You will come to the stables before a day is done. If you are in luck there will be a pony or two there. As I said before, take the exit that appears the rockiest. Retrace your journey here till you pass Cirith Ungol and ultimately away from Mordor. If you break this vial at your feet before you reach there you will appear as a shadow of Sauron and none will question your travels. From there, go south west till you come into the path of the others. You must be quick. However obliging this passage may be, your people may already be out of you reach." 

"Wait! I must say good-bye to Frodo!" 

"No! Leave now or you may be too late," she commanded. 

He looked pleadingly down the way that they came, almost appearing to stretch his vision past the turns that hid his master. He then turned, and without another thought fled into the darkness of the hidden hallway. 

------- 

  
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	17. Drifting

_Author's Notes: The prodigal son has returned. I have come back to my old story and I have a lot of catching up to do. This chapter isn't terribly long and for the wait (what..5 years?) I don't think it's worth it. But it's a start. This chapter is primarily Neafeatir and Frodo. I haven't figured out what I had in store for the rest of Middle-earth during this time in the story. The next chapter should see us returning to Arwen, Pippin, Aragorn, and Sam._

_When is the next chapter out you may ask? Not in 5 years. A week at the VERY most. I promise. But am I really talking to anyone? Does anyone even still read this story other than UnloveTrack (to whom I own a LOT. Sometimes I just need a reminder)?_

_I also must warn you that my writing style has changed. Since the publication of chapter 16 and chapter 17, I have graduated High School and College. Does this mean my writing has improved? No, it has just changed. I think I tried too hard back in the day so my new style may be kind of relaxed._

_Alright enough about me._

Disclaimer: I do not have the privilege of owning the majority of these characters except for one and a spattering of others.

Chapter 17 – Drifting

After stumbling in the darkness for the past hour, Sam had almost talked himself into turning back. Every step he took felt like a small betrayal to Frodo. He left his master in the hands of that trickster. How could he have done such a thing?

He turned and started back into the dark tunnel. He could head back now and Frodo would never know that he had left. He shook his head to clear his head. The image of Rosie Cotton filled his mind's eye. Frodo needed him, but he was relatively safe. Rosie also needed him and without him she would die.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo."

He turned and continued down the dark path.

-------------------------------------------------------

After Neafeatir sent the other hobbit away she escaped to a different corner of her towers. She had to clear her mind. She knew that by sending Sam away she was betraying Frodo again. She needed time to prepare her mind before facing him again.

She found her peace for only a few short minutes before she felt the presence of another. She halted he steady walk and turned, glaring at her follower.

"So you've resorted to stalking my steps as a shadow would, Lieutenant?"

The twisted mouth smiled – if you could really call it a smile. Neafeatir had known the Lieutenant of Barad-dur for many years, and still she could not recall an actual name for the beast. Some simply addressed him as The Mouth of Sauron. Neafeatir preferred 'Lieutenant'. While she detested the creature, he had done great things in his past. There was a part of her that respected him.

"And you have become an idle wraith."

Neafeatir turned towards him and raised her chin. "I wasn't aware that you were still here. I thought you were one your way to Isengard?"

He glided closer to her, but Neafeatir stood her ground.

"I am," he stared at her for a moment. Neafeatir assumed he was looking at her; the mask that covered his face was turned in her direction.

"I came to see if you would accompany me. There are hordes of troublesome trees infesting Isengard. We may be able to use your talents."

Neafeatir considered the proposal. While she had been busy working with the retaking of Gondor it had been quite some time since she really engaged the enemy for her lord. Although she respected the Lieutenant- she also loathed him.

Besides, she couldn't leave Frodo for a journey that would take weeks.

"Yes, my talents would aid that well. It is a shame you will have to try and take it back alone. My talents are needed elsewhere," she smiled and started to turn away.

"Have you killed this one yet?"

She turned and looked on his shielded face.

"Certainly this one will not last as long as the last one," he seemed to grow in height in order to loom over her. "You should just slit his throat now and be done with it. You know you will be the death of him; it is only a matter of time. You will deal the final blow or our Lord will. He will only tolerate your nonsense for so long."

A sharp sound of metal and her blade was at his throat.

"Speak again and they will be the last words to pollute that ill hole in your face."

He smiled, the creases to his mouth excreting some foul substance. He backed away and turned.

"Best keep you blade sharpened for your little whelp."

Neafeatir let him go. While his words angered her she knew she should not let this trouble her. Words were what the monster was talented at. And words were just words.

-----------------------------------------

"Sam's gone."

It was not a question.

Frodo waited for her to return. She found him simply sitting before a meager fire, his eyes glued to the flames. When she failed to answer him, he turned to her.

Neafeatir nodded. He held her gaze for what felt like hours. He then stood and started to walk towards his study.

"I trust he will be safe, and that you sent him away for a noble reason."

Neafeatir wanted to tell him her selfless reasons for sending Sam away. She was helping his people by equipping Samwise with the tools needed to rescue them and hide them away. She wanted to show him the vision of his people suffering and how in a few short days it will be replaced by the image of free hobbits.

But she merely felt herself nod.

---------------------------------------------

Neafeatir approached Sauron's lower towers, where he summoned her. Her master had been spending a large portion of his time in these rooms. She could only guess why. As she drew nearer she noticed a dense fog leaking out of the cracks in the door. The stench that soon followed was heady and foul- curious, but no necessarily unusual.

She stroked the handle-less door and spoke the words that opened it. The fog that crawled along the floor grew higher and higher as she went further into the room.

In the middle of the room there appeared to be large light grey mass that stretched and contorted as she looked on it. Strange, inhuman groan came from the creature as it grew.

She looked around the chamber. There were tables full of all kinds of objects: bubbling cauldrons, dismembers animals, blades of different shapes and sizes, and all kinds of magical gems and powders.

She gazed back at the grey creature as it howled from a no apparent mouth. It was then she noticed a slain elf painting the floor with his blood. The elf had on no clothing and his hands were severed completely off. The cause of his death was certainly the blade that stuck out of his chest. Beside him was an entire arm that clearly did not belong to him. She did not care to find the owner of the limb.

A sharp cracking noise like the sound of bones breaking came from the mass. A thick arm had emerged from the creature. As she watched another arm stretched forth from the thing. The color of the skin slowly shifted to an almost healthy pale flesh tone. The skin began to glow before a brilliant flash. She shielded her eyes till the light disappeared.

When she opened them there stood a tall, beautiful elf male before her. His silver-white hair reached the middle of his back, and his skin glowed a radiant pale. When he opened his eyes she knew who he was. His eyes were completely black with a red glow in the very middle. She knew him, but she had not seen him in his true flesh and blood form for hundreds of years. She never believed she would ever see it again, even after the recovery of the one ring.

She fell to her knees and bowed her head, "My Lord."

She felt his presence come closer but dared not look on him without his permission.

"Stand my child."

Neafeatir did as she was told.

"Behold, my original form," he held up one of his arms inspecting it. Sauron stepped down for the pedestal walking carefully around the dead elf.

"This is not the first time I have returned to the world of the flesh, no."

He began to pace the length of the chamber. The more he moved about the room the more body parts she began to notice. She recalled the elves that were taken to Barad-dur not long ago. This must have been their fate.

He was silent for many moments before coming to a stop beside her. He held up his hand for her to see. Neafeatir quickly looked at his face before concentrating on the hand. The flesh was flawless when she first glanced at it, but right before her eyes the color began to darken. The skin began to crack and decay.

"The transformation does not stay for long," he said with such a peculiar calm. "I am missing something."

"Is there a way I can be of service, my Lord?"

He raised a slender eyebrow as the decay began to eat at his face.

"Yes."

His rotting hand seized her forearm. White-hot pain jolted through her as if a fire had spread throughout her veins. Out of instinctual self-defense she tried to pull away, but his fingers only gripped harder, his nails drawing blood. She fell to her knees as the pain coursed through her body.

Neafeatir's own skin began to darken and flake off in large chunks. Sauron's arm seemed to be drawing from her. His skin started to glow and heal.

Neafeatir knew she was screaming, but she heard no sound. She only heard the sickening sound of her life being drained away and the continuous pounding in her head.

The decay started to spread up her arm when suddenly the healing that began in her master ceased and he too started to lose his flesh. Sauron abruptly release her. She pulled in her injured arm.

Sauron roared as his entire body rot in mere seconds. His spirit escaped just as the bones turned to dust landing in a pile on the ground.

Silence returned, only the sound of her pained and panicked breaths echoes in the chamber. Neafeatir knew that his essence would find a safe housing somewhere. Sauron was not easily defeated by a failed experiment. She worried not for his well being.

"Get out!"

Sauron's malicious voice echoed. Neafeatir started, but quickly stood and shuffled out.

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Frodo set down his pen. While massaging the muscles in his left shoulder, he perused what he had written. For the most part, he wrote down the stories told to him or he would translate an ancient document for the challenge of it. As of late, he found that keeping a journal to be very therapeutic. He'd often read through it to sort out his thoughts and feelings.

The most frequent subject was Neafeatir, or rather, Nimuial. He preferred to address her with a name that did not associate her with the Dark Lord.

Two days passed since she sent away Sam. While he understood her reasons for sending him away, Frodo was not ignorant of her real motive. Still, all animosity for her ill behavior was quickly fading. Frodo found a strange sort of patience when dealing with his new companion.

The past two days came and went in relative silence. They reached a strange routine in the towers. Frodo busied himself with his writings and the sorceress would return to check on him.

He didn't ignore her, and she didn't push him for attention. It was almost as if they had come to a strange sort of stand still in their co-existence. Like pieces in a strategic game just waiting for the other to act. What exactly the 'act' was, Frodo didn't know.

A shrill scream of frustration interrupted his thoughts. He heard the familiar echo of Neafeatir's boots approaching, but something was off.

He stood and waited by his doorway for her to enter into the main chamber. Neafeatir threw open the doors violently. She stormed in, her face viciously angry and in pain. Frodo felt a chill of dread run through him, but he did not turn away from her.

She half stumbled the rest of the way into the room when Frodo noticed that she was cradling an injured arm.

He took a step forward. "Are you all right?"

She must have not noticed he was also in the room judging by her startled gasp.

"Frodo!" Her blood red eyes darted to her arm and then back to him. "Yes. Yes. I am in perfect health."

She turned away from him.

"Do not be absurd, you are hurt."

As if fate wanted to prove his point, she fell to the ground groaning in apparent anguish.

"Stay away, Frodo! I am-," but she did not finish her lie.

Her fierce commands usually terrified Frodo. This was no exception, but he could not simply leave her there.

"I need time to recuperate. That is all."

Frodo didn't know the nature of her injury, but he did a simple way to ease pain. He quickly went into the other room to fetch a pale of water and some soft rags. He then rejoined her on the floor.

She had her arm out and her eyes closed. He could hear her mutter some enchantment apparently attempting to heal the wound. From this close he could see the extent of the damage. Half of her arm appeared to belong to a corpse. As she spoke the skin started to revive, but only enough to seem that she had survived a severe fire. Her spell finished.

Frodo could determine by the way her arm shook that the spell eliminated no pain. He dipped the rag into the cool water, ringing it out slowly. He gingerly took her hand and began dabbing her arm.

She sharply drew a breath in through her clenched teeth.

"How did this happen? Was there a battle at the gates?"

She laughed lightly and shook her head.

"No."

Frodo continued to soothe her arm. He did no know a lot of elf injuries or healing techniques but he knew a lot about comfort. Bilbo used to do this when he'd scratch a knee or tumbled down a hill.

"No this did not happen in battle," She lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "Our Lord Sauron required my assistance," she then laughed darkly.

Frodo dipped the rag back in the water.

"How could he do that to you?" he asked timidly.

"I do no question my master," she answered, but she could not hide the lingering bitterness in her voice. She slowly relaxed as Frodo continued to clean the wound.

"Will it heal after time?"

She sighed and looked at the damage done for a long moment.

"I fear it will never fully heal."

"Thank you, Elenti."

Frodo smiled and met her gaze.

"You are very welcome."

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Later that evening as Neafeatir chose a suitable glove to cover her deformity she replayed the incident with Sauron in her head. What he was attempting was indeed a very difficult enchantment. She could only assume that he needed a sample of his own flesh and blood after the efforts with the other elves was futile. She was the closest thing he had to his own blood.

"I wonder what he will try next," she whispered.


End file.
